


The Way Back Home

by McKaysgal



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Protection, Rescue, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKaysgal/pseuds/McKaysgal
Summary: A young American woman awakens in an empty farmhouse in France. In April of 1917. Only, she's from the year 2020. Schofield and Blake come across her and offer aid. On their journey together, they learn that winning the war is by not fighting what they hate, but saving what they love. Schofield/OC. Follows main storyline of the film. Continuation depends on review feedback!
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, William Schofield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	1. I Am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger

Author's Note: I don't own characters that feature in the film 1917. They belong to Universal and Dreamworks Pictures

April 6th, 1917…

Somewhere in the exposed fields of Flanders…

The most devastating war the world has known had been fragmenting the already fragile strands of human civilization for three unmerciful years…

Two young men rested at the edge of the lush landscape of buttercups and dandelions, savoring these moments of reprieve.

The younger of the two, barely at the age of 20 if one was to guess, lay flat on the soft grass, his hard metal helmet covering his eyes to block out the noonday sunlight that managed to break through the overcast of clouds. His soot soiled hands lay crossed on his abdomen as he attempted to rest in mind despite being excited with the prospective adrenaline he yearned for.

The older man, though only by a few years, possibly more in his mid to late '20s, leaned up against a tree barely a foot away from his dozing companion, going helmetless revealing his dark brown hair. His eyes closed in the long afternoon monotony of no orders given, absorbing it by the minute. Nothing could possibly be different about today than it had been the day previous or even the week before, awaiting the big push.

Lance Corporals Thomas Blake and William Schofield had no idea what events were to transpire in their path after they heard approaching footsteps from behind them.

"Blake." Their sergeant stood at Blake's prone side, shifting his foot to give him a good kick to rouse him. The young soldier lay unresponsive until another kick assaulted his hip, not enough to hurt, but enough to get his attention. "Blake!"

Blake sighed and removed his helmet from over his eyes, squinting in the daylight up at his upper-in-command. "Sorry, Sarge."

"Pick a man. Bring your kit." The sergeant directed towards Black, more or less ignoring Schofield before walking away.

Schofield opened his eyes, looking over at Blake who was placing his helmet back upon his head. He closed his eyes again to return to his shallow sleep, until he sensed the presence standing above him.

Blake had risen up and was now standing over him, holding out his hand for him to take. Schofield looked up, conveying without words as if to ask Blake if he was selecting him to come along. Chuckling to himself, Schofield reached up and took his comrade's hand with his own that was calloused and hardened, having no idea what would be in store for them both.

Allowing himself to be pulled up onto his feet, Schofield followed Blake as they made their way across the makeshift camps of their fellow combatants participating in everyday tasks of cooking by fireside, hanging up laundry on the clothesline, reminding all the men present of their families back home.

Reminding them of the reasons they were fighting in the first place…

As Blake made small chat about what he received in the mail from home, Schofield listened as intently as he could, but also wondered in the scheme of things what sort of mission they would find themselves on.

Whatever was about to happen today, Schofield would in no way have expected what he would lose and what he would gain. The promises he would make in the coming hours and the lengths he would go to keep his word to them as a good soldier with honor and a man possessing his English borne code of chivalry whilst wrestling with his heart's true desire…

.

.

.

Only a mere two miles away from the English-dug trenches, a pair of disoriented eyes slowly opened to the ceiling of a wooded farmhouse. The person whom those eyes belonged to groaned as they tried to clear their fogged mind, making certain to move their aching body slowly.

A young woman of late twenties, 28 years old as she attempted to recall her recent birthday, lay on the hard creaking floor of an abandoned farmhouse, desolate and foreboding with the lurking past evidence of looting and arson.

The woman sat up from her position on the floor, making note that nothing in her body felt broken or fractured as she alternately flexed her fingers, clenched her hands and stretched her legs. She patted her head gently to be sure of no resulting concussion from this strange delusion, her brunette hair entangled beyond the need of a simply hairbrush. Her head became clearer as her vision adjusted to the gray sunlight fading in and out from the shattered windows and gaping holes in the house's woodwork.

Where the hell am I?

The faint sound of airplanes overhead caused her to perk up and gasp in alarm as she struggled to her feet. The stench of decay and dusty debris assaulted her nostrils and she took in more of her surroundings.

Stumbling her way to the window nearest her, the woman looked out to the distance, seeing a barn that was in much improved structure compared to that of the building she currently occupied. A lone cow stood nearby the barn grazing on the grass with not a care in the world.

The woman clutched on the windowsill, feeling the oncoming sensation of hyperventilation threatening to overcome her. Whatever that had happened prior to her awakening, she doubted she was anywhere near her home. No sounds of cars, sirens or people talking in an indistinct manner, nothing familiar to her at all made her feel assurance that she knew where this location was.

Tears flooded into her eyes as shivers racked her body, panic and overwhelming sense that this was defiantly not an overly vivid dream. The splinters inhabiting her palms from the windowsill convinced her enough that this was real. The breeze from outside whirled around her shaking form as she realized that she was only wearing a short hot-pink nightdress that barely came to her knees and her feet were bare. She had worn so little the night previous due to the sweltering weather of early April heat.

She was exposed in this strange country and separated from anything familiar. In an attempt to gather herself, she looked around for any other form of clothing that would cover her more modestly. She had no idea what or who she would encounter and she needed to preserve her modesty. Feeling protected would help her in keeping a clear head to figure out what was going on.

In the decimated wardrobe, she found a plain dark blue dress, designed as if to be fitted for a girl ten years her junior, but luckily she was just slight enough to be convincing as a younger woman. Feeling satisfied that it would cover her up after dressing; she began looking for anything that would shield her bare feet.

Stepping around the numerous shards of broken glass was difficult, considering she had to lift up the skirt of the dress to avoid tripping. In her best effort, she proved to be unsuccessful as she heard the creak of footsteps from the lower level. A stab of glass at the base of her foot pierced her frail skin, her hand covering her mouth to smother her cry of pain.

She fell to the ground as her foot caught on the long dress's skirt. The shivers of paralyzing fear coursed through her again as the silent wail of pain from the glass embedded in her foot built into a genuine scream that she could barely suppress with her hand.

She brought her knees up to her chest as she crawled to the corner of the room, debating whether to wait out for whoever was downstairs to leave or risk being seen in climbing out one of the windows and even risk falling due to the house's debilitated state.

The steps from below came at the stairs then, creaking up slowly. She lay down on her side, hoping to perhaps fall unconscious again and awaken back to where she has been before, back home where everything was loud and chaotic and enraging and wonderful and familiar….

Her face lay against the dirty wooden floor; no doubt covering her face with Lord knew what in germs. Hygiene was the least of her concerns then, praying that whoever was coming up the stairs was not with hostile intentions toward her, a woman alone and not knowing where she was or how she came to be there.

The footsteps, the sound of heavy boots, came closer as she shut her eyes tightly, not wanting to see who was coming to confront her on this forgotten piece of land. Their steps were slow and deliberate; she could sense somebody's curious and cautious gaze drinking in the sight of her, lying amongst the damaged room.

She choked back a sob, knowing that she had been seen and praying to whatever deity was watching her to not be violated just because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Was this figure a friend come to aid her or a foe to terrorize her from her worst nightmares?

"Miss?" A male voice, soft and concerned asked as she felt a hand gently place upon her shoulder. "Miss, are you hurt? I didn't know anyone was here. Do you need help?"

She sniffled and dared to open her eyes to look upon who was kneeling down at her side, careful with his hand upon her as if she were made of the most delicate porcelain.

Her tear blurred vision was able to see a man about her own age, skin pale but with a face appearing weary and tired. His left eye appeared a bit swollen and almost bloodshot, emphasizing the striking blue of those irises. She had never seen a man with such eyes. Her heartbeat began to calm as her mentality assured that he was not here to harm her.

The man stayed silent, awaiting her response to know her plight. She opened her mouth, but her throat felt dry. Had she inhaled so much dust that she couldn't speak? As she gulped to take in another breath, she looked over the uniform he was wearing.

It wasn't the green camouflage that she had seen soldiers wear for the past decade. This uniform was brown and particularly worn with dirt and tears at the seams, the kind of uniform she had seen in a glass cabinet at museums…

The man spoke again, his voice soft and calm.

"I'm Lance Corporal Schofield." His hand was no longer on her shoulder as he stood up again. She looked up at him as he held out his hand, a gesture to assist in her standing. His eyes never left hers as she stared at his awaiting hand, the other one she noticed was bandaged around his palm with dried blood and mud. Her trembling hand placed in his much larger one, his grasp firm but gentle. "Why are your feet bare? Your foot's bleeding."

She ignored the concern his voice as she finally had enough strength to speak to this foreigner. Her legs buckled and the ringing in her ears began. Her head pounded like a drum, cracking her skull from the inside out. Her voice cracked with her dehydrated throat, daring to speak those fateful words…

"Where am I and what year is this?"

The man, Schofield, tilted his head in confusion as he took in her words. "I'm…I'm afraid I don't understand, Miss. Do you not know where you are? It's April 1917. We're in the French countryside in Flanders." His hands continued to grasp hers as he observed her reaction to his words.

The woman's vision began to tunnel as she tried to focus on the handsome soldier's face in front of her. "No…no." She managed to gasp out as darkness encompassed her sight.

Her legs gave out as she felt this gallant stranger's arms enfold around her to keep from hitting the floor. The scent of dust from his uniform somewhat lulled her back into a shocked faint.

Schofield gave out a gasp of his own as he caught the injured maiden in his arms, careful to keep her head and neck held up with his good hand, his other bandaged one enfolded about her waist. He sank to his knees on the floor as he situated her in his arms to keep a comfortable grip on this small woman. Standing up, she was at least a whole foot shorter than him.

The last thing the woman heard as she fell into this soldier's bewildered embrace was the sound of him shouting another name. At least she knew he wasn't alone.

"Blake!" He shouted to the top of his voice. "Bring your water canteen now!"

He looked down at the woman's tear-stained and ashen face, compassion overtaking his drive at the moment to focus on the mission at hand. He had noted her accent was neither that of French or German. She was American…

Questions began gathering in his head and Schofield carefully lifted up the petite woman into his arms, his heartbeat quickening at the sensation of holding her body so close. He descended down the stairs with a steady gait so as not to jostle her.

As he carried the girl out of the house and into the fresh afternoon air, little did he know that fate was dealing him a gamble…

He wasn't sure he was willing to place any bets on anything compromising the mission either.

If this girl was American, how did she end up in France in the midst of this hellish war? Why was she in an abandoned farmhouse? How did she not know of the year and what was happening?

Her injuries would have to be attended to before any questions could be answered as Schofield met Blake's confused, gaping stare at the sight before him.

"Bloody hell! What've you gotten yourself into now, Scho?" Blake reached for his water canteen as Schofield gently lowered the swooned girl down onto the grass.

He had a feeling that being nearly blown up by a tripwire explosion and crushed to death by a collapsing mine-shaft was going to be a casual morning stroll compared to what this mysterious woman was going to bring into his life.

And he had yet to know her name…


	2. To Be Human

Something dripping on her forehead, cold and liquid…

Blades of grass in between her fingers as the feeling came back to them. …

The faint roaring of airplanes flying overhead rumbled in her subcranium…

Schofield knelt at the girl's side, keeping a virtuous distance away of about a foot since placing her down onto a cushioned patch of grass beyond the farmhouse porch steps.

Blake carefully poured a small stream of cooling water from his canteen upon her forehead, trying to rouse the girl back to the land of the living. The sound of planes overhead certainly had both men on alert, trying to keep themselves occupied with this fair, female stranger…

"Her foot's bleeding." Schofield removed hi s roll of gauze from a back pocket, which had been previously used to bandage his injured palm.

He winced to himself, recalling how that barbed wire stuck itself to his hand when it got caught. And then it being plunged no thanks to Blake into the unfortunately placed corpse of a rotting soldier…

With all the luck Schofield had in the world, he would most likely die of an infection-induced fever than a stray bullet or strategically situated bomb.

He concentrated further on wrapping up the girl's foot and looking close for any hidden shards of glass in her injury. From what he could see, it was only an inch long cut where he managed to quell the bleeding, licking the gauze before enfolding it around the dainty joint that felt especially fragile in his roughened, war-torn hands.

The small groan emitting from the girl as she began to stir made Schofield look up in intrigue that was misguided to the cynical part of his mind…

"She's coming 'round." Blake's face lit up with a tiny relieved smile. He was probably just excited to be around a woman again. He kneeled closer to her as he placed his canteen back into his pack. "Miss, it's alright. We're not gonna hurt you."

After securely fastening the crude bandage together around her foot, Schofield placed her foot back down onto the grass. If he knew anything, the female gender was more delicate and required careful handling when touched…

Her eyes finally opened up, blinking slowly to take in her surroundings. Her head turned from side to side as she wiped away the mixture of perspiration and canteen water on her forehead. She felt a coarse, uniformed arm slide underneath her back to help her in sitting up.

Another man, more youthful than the soldier she remembered back in the house, locked eyes with her. He was wearing the same uniform as the other one that had caught her as she fainted before him like a foolish ingénue from a melodramatic romance novel.

Back where she had lived before, in her own time, she had never been prone to suddenly fainting…

"Where…where am I?" She asked for the second time, trying to keep the fear out of her voice as the younger soldier in front of her brought out his canteen again for her to see. Her throat cracked as though the words wouldn't physically come out of her mouth. With trembling and aching hands, she reached for the canteen, praying there'd be water inside.

"I'm Lance Corporal Blake." His voice was soft, almost as if he still carried the virtues of boyhood within it. He was definitely not one to go out of his way to harm her. "We're in Flanders."

Blake looked up to Schofield, who had stood up from his kneeling position at her feet. The girl looked up when she saw the taller soldier ascend the porch steps, keeping his gaze focused on something she wasn't certain of.

She brought the canteen to her lips, not caring that the younger soldier Blake had most likely drunk from it. She gulped it down as though she hadn't had a drink in days. How long had she been unconscious in that farmhouse?

"That dashing prince over there brought you outside." Blake chuckled lightly as she removed the canteen from her lips, water dribbling down her chin in a quite unladylike fashion. She didn't care if she seemed like an uncivilized madwoman. Propriety and appearance were the last things on her mind.

She finally gained the gumption to speak again. "Is this really 1917, in the middle of World War One?"

Blake's brow furrowed as her mention of the number "1". His sky blue eyes looked down from her face at the dirt beneath his knees.

Before he could ask her any further about that, she handed him back the empty canteen. "I've never been here before. And…I have no idea how long I've been here."

She managed to blink back her oncoming tears of frustration and confusion as Blake held his hand out to her to assist in standing back on to her feet.

The girl took it, her heart rate calming in her sensing that if these two soldiers had wanted to hurt her, being isolated from any other signs of people or civilization, they certainly would have taken what they wanted by now.

Blake's hand was equally as gentle in its grip on hers as he helped her stand. "Be careful now, Scho bandaged your foot up. It was bleeding."

Holding her hand, he guided his other arm about her waist without actually touching her. He led her to sit on the porch steps where she was positioned on the top stair.

Pulling back the longer than necessary skirt of her improvised dress, she revealed her foot to be wrapped in gauze in a secure tie rounding its whole width, leaving it very unlikely to uncoil should she be able to walk on it.

The sound of creaking steps behind her alerted the girl to Schofield's presence. He moved around to where she was sitting on the stairs and kneeled down to set something at her feet.

"These might not fit you exactly, but they were the only ones I could find." Schofield looked up into her green eyes, his voice apologetic but sincere in his effort to make sure her basic needs were met.

He had managed to procure from the house wreckage a pair of Edwardian style women's shoes, black and worn, but sturdy to where they would be comfortable for her damaged foot. He took one of them in his hand and held it out to her.

"May I?" Schofield was on his knees, his uniform surely being caked with more dirt and grass.

She nodded, his calming aura washing away her trepidation, her wariness of being alone in the middle of nowhere in a strange country and different century with these two men. Being reminded of a certain childhood era fairytale, she slipped her bandaged foot into the shoe.

It wasn't quite a perfect fit, feeling loose at the back of her heel, but it was preferable to going around barefoot and risking future injury.

"Emmy Hunterson." She spoke to him for the first since she had passed out in her helpless and disoriented state. "That's my name, short for Emmanuelle."

Schofield listened and looked up at her face, deciphering if he had heard such a name before.

"Emmanuelle." He merely whispered it to himself, feeling an electric thrill up his spine as it rolled effortlessly off his tongue. "Emmy." Unusual but beautiful, Schofield thought to himself.

The young woman Emmy ran her hands through her tangled brunette hair as she stood up again, ignoring Schofield's waiting hand to help her up.

Blake remained quiet as he watched the two lock eyes. He had definitely been puzzled and amused when he had seen his comrade come out of the house with this woman in his arms, but he did understand why Schofield had taken such chivalrous action in saving her.

They were soldiers and gentlemen in equal measure of both types…

"Damn this dress." Her curt use of profanity took both Blake and Schofield aback, the older soldier especially found himself smiling at the corner of his mouth. This lost maiden was ahead of her time in more ways than one if her words were to be believed.

"I suppose that dress isn't yours. You look like you're drowning in it." Blake quipped with her, making her crack a smile for the first time since awakening on both recent occasions.

Emmy picked up the loose, heavy skirt of the dark blue dress, truly giving the visual that she was in an ocean being attacked by merciless waves. Schofield watched her carefully as she adjusted to the shoes, limping with her healing foot toward the water pump by the barn.

The distant sound of a cow mooing alerted the soldiers to another presence on this godforsaken property. Looking around for any other signs of human life, Schofield hoisted his rifle over shoulder, fastening its strap to secure along his chest. He walked toward the barn to get good sight if anything or anyone was inside.

It was certainly rundown but what caught his attention was the bucket of fresh milk sitting amongst the hay. Removing the bucket's lid with his foot, it certainly made the connection between that and the cow grazing without a clue in the grass.

He dipped his hand into the white liquid, relishing the cool sensation on his skin and brought it up to his parched lips. It had been so long since he had tasted such creamy sweetness…

The sound of splashing water a short distance behind Schofield, mixed with the voices of Blake and Miss Hunterson… Emmanuelle… broke him out of his reverie and he took the opportunity to pour the milk into his own canteen to save for later, at least for her well-being.

Had she eaten properly since they found her?

Blake and Emmy's voices faded away as everything fell silent except for the faint rumbling from above in the sky. They both came up behind Schofield to look up with him.

Three planes soared in the open cloudy, gunfire blazing from each one it seemed.

Emmy looked up in wonder, not believing that she was seeing something occur before her eyes that she had only read about in history books. The cool breeze caressed her freshly wet face, feeling heavenly against her skin…

"Is it our friends again?" Blake asked Schofield, leaning against a railing of the barn.

Schofield walked out and into the open pasture to get an improved visual. "Looks like it. Dog fight."

Emmy cleared her throat to get Blake's attention. "Do either of you have first names since I already gave you mine? I feel it's only fair." She dared to cross her arms and arch her neck, showing that her confidence was gaining and her fear waning.

Blake looked to her, a blue spark of humor in his eyes in reaction to her spunk. "My name's nothing special, Miss Hunterson. It's Thomas, christened after my father like any other son."

She held out her hand for him to shake which he gratefully took, pleased to be formally introduced to her. "And what about Sir Strong-but-Silent over there?"

Blake laughed, hoping Schofield was too occupied watching the planes to hear their gentle prodding.

"Your knight in shining armor over there is William. If you ask him yourself, he may have you call him 'Will', depending on how much he's besotted with you." They both laughed together at his playful joke, feeling an ease and camaraderie with each other.

She could already pick up on the deep bond between these two brothers-in-arms.

Emmanuelle internally scolded herself. She had just met these men and she knew that she was far away from her home and literally a hundred years away from everything familiar to her.

And she needed to figure out how to get home, if there was a way…

"Who's winning?" Blake asked Schofield, breaking Emmanuelle out of her thoughts.

"Us, I think." Schofield responded, turning back to them. "Two against one." He walked back to them, locking eyes again with Emmanuelle again.

"We have food, Miss Hunterson. Do you recall the last time you've eaten anything?" He removed a compartmented pack from the side of his hip, holding it out for her to look inside. The aroma of bread and sweetened biscuits dipped in tea made her nearly melt with hunger, but she held her hands up.

"You helped me enough, Lance Corporal." Guilt washed over her. These two men were here for a reason and it wasn't just to rescue her. They were on a mission and they were wasting their time interacting with her, a nobody who was barely an acquaintance with them. "I can't possibly take your food."

"Yes, you can." Schofield responded to her protest with little space for argument. "Who would we be to allow a woman alone to starve?" She caught a teasing tone with his voice, staring into his unbroken gaze.

She reached into the bag, looking for the source of that sweet smell. Two buttered biscuits she had in her hands, bringing back past memories of making breakfast in the morning at home. She fought back another onslaught of tears, embarrassed with herself.

"Thank you. Very much, to the both of you." She swallowed a bit of biscuit, the irritation of her throat evident of nothing to wash it down.

Schofield stepped forward with his canteen. "This is yours as well. You'll need to pick your strength back up. You just had a shock and you've lost some blood."

She took it into her hands and she recognized immediately the whiff of freshly squeezed milk.

"Besides, we can't have you fainting on us again. We'd both have quite the exercise if we had to take turns carrying you to where we're going." Blake lightened the mood once again with touch of humor. "And I mean that in a flattering way. You're obviously a lovely… lady… for an American…and it'd be no trouble at all if we had to…"

The younger soldier stuttered, emitting a rare laugh from Schofield. Emmanuelle couldn't help but focus on him, the way his eyes crinkled up in joy and the corners of his lips rising in dimples that made him seem more youthful.

A blush colored her cheeks as she screwed the lid back onto the canteen, keeping a tight hold on it with her hands. The weight of Blake's words suddenly sinking in.

Did they intend to take her with them wherever their destination was?

Before she could ask the men anything further, the rumbling of the planes they had forgotten about in their distraction of a conversation suddenly increased.

Schofield was on alert again, all traces of laughter disappeared from his eyes. Turning to Emmanuelle, he conveyed by looking into her eyes to stay where she stood as he and Blake walked out to the pasture to investigate. One of the planes in the dogfight had crashed, shot down and black smoke billowing from its tail end.

It vanished over the hill and out of their sight…

But only for a precious few seconds…

It emerged in plain view over the hill, charging like an enraged bull towards the barn.

"Run now!" Schofield yelled to both of them.

Picking up her lengthy skirt, Emmy bolted as fast as these cursed shoes would permit her. An arm enfolded around the waist from her left side. Schofield pushed her down onto the earthy ground, attempting to shield her from the impending debris on the plane shattering the barn. Blake ended up on their other side, removing his own helmet to cover her head from the impact.

The crash of the plane was deafening enough, then the collision of its engine being enflamed, engulfing the pilot.

Schofield was breathing hard against her, his nose pressing into the back of her head for the tiniest fraction of a second before gathering his wits together and turning to the destruction behind them. Emmanuelle felt his weight leave her body, suddenly feeling a chill from his absence. Refusing to consider the meaning of that, she turned toward the barn to see both Blake and Schofield struggling to help the pilot out of the inferno.

Realizing she was still wearing Blake's helmet, she removed it from her head and could only stare in a baffled state of clarity.

She was truly seeing the horrors of World War One before her very eyes, the images and sounds as clear to her as any other event she had witnessed in her life.

She couldn't quite decipher what the pilot was screaming as the soldiers finally got him out of the cockpit and were dragging his struggling form across the dirt. Whatever he was gasping out, it definitely wasn't English…

He was German…

Dread knotted into the pit of her stomach as she froze in her position, still clutching onto Blake's helmet.

Schofield and Blake dragged him a good distance away into a sole patch of dirt. They both locked eyes with her, as if they were ashamed she had to see this. The pilot continued to babble in panicked German, now lying released from the soldiers' grips.

"Stop!" Emmanuelle suddenly shouted to them moving toward the three men. "You're only making him scared. He won't listen to you if he's afraid."

Now she had to balance within her mind human decency and intelligent common sense. Both Blake and Schofield jerked up their heads at what she was saying gaping at her as if she had sprouted wings from her back. By just his German nationality, the pilot was a sworn enemy to the British, but he was a person just like anyone else.

"Emmanuelle, we need to put him out of his misery." Schofield insisted to her as she dropped to her knees beside the traumatized pilot. Blake helped him with restraining the German from moving his arms; his legs useless due to them being caught in the flames and possibly crushed from the crash.

"Let me try to calm him down." She didn't look at them to see how the two Englishmen would respond. She placed herself closer to the pilot so she could be within his line of sight. "I'm not going to stand here helpless by the sidelines."

"She's right, Scho!" Blake backed her up much to her surprise. "He needs water! Go get him some!" He pointed at Schofield.

The older Lance Corporal bit back his reply, prepared to berate them both, but time was of the essence. He lifted himself back onto his feet and ran towards the water pump.

Emmy did what she could think of to comfort the German while Blake reluctantly released his grip from the pilot's arms to give her space. Her hands were on his shoulders and she shushed him, keeping focus on his face so much that she failed to comprehend his next action

Suddenly, his gloved hands were around her throat, so quick she hardly had time to comprehend. She clawed at his fingers clutched about her neck, underestimating his strength overpowering hers as a trained combat pilot. However brief this strangulation attempt was, it would surely leave that area decorated with bruises.

Shone in his eyes as Blake grabbed at the pilot, pulling him off of Emmy by trapping him in a headlock…

Gasping for oxygen, she didn't have enough in her lungs yet to shout out to Blake in warning.

Until it was too late…

The knife was already embedded into his lower torso in reward for their efforts. And it was all her fault…

Blake's screams of pain echoed in her ears and she heard Schofield yell out, running from the water pump and dropping his helmet to the ground.

"No!" The older soldier cried out in defiance. He took out his rifle and shot the pilot dead with only a couple of hits. The blood splattered onto Emmanuelle's face as she covered her ears from the ringing those shots produced, being so near her.

Blake was only able to stand up for a few seconds as he unbuttoned his uniform, trying to see the amount of damage done. The blood began leaking out of him with little warning and his skin had already begun to lose color, fading out into a ghostly white.

Emmy clutched at her throat with gingerly touches, feeling the bruises begin to make their appearances, but those were the least of their issues. A comrade who had a hand in helping her was expiring before their eyes.

Shaking in the aftermath of what had just occurred; she took a step back until she could just feel the heat from the burning barn.

Schofield was turned away from her, holding onto Blake's body that was halfway in his lap. The younger soldier handed him some objects, some possessions from his uniform such as his dog tags and pictures of his family.

The tears finally fell from her eyes and she buried her face in her hands…

She sobbed for what felt like an eternity into her palms. She wanted to go home and get out of this hell-hole.

Now, she was alone in an unfamiliar place, but with a man who must surely hate her now for causing the death of his comrade.

The barn finally collapsed into a heap behind her, the impact rumbling in the ground beneath her defeated body. Maybe if she just walked into that inferno and let it burn her alive…

Before she could make it to her feet, she felt two much larger hands gently take a hold of her wrists, revealing to her blurred eyesight to be William Schofield. His helmet had been replaced back onto his head from where dropped it.

His eyes looked at her with no sign of animosity, just an exhausted sort of concern. Or perhaps he was just a master at hiding his real emotions…

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to witness all of that." Schofield apologized, trying to coax out of her a response as he knelt in front of her.

"No, William." She used his formal name, to hell with proper addressing of people. "It's my fault he's dead. I should've stepped aside and allowed you to follow your instinct. You ought to tell me to burn in Hell! Aren't you even angry with me?!" She nearly screamed in his face as he pulled her up to stand.

He only stared in a stoic manner behind her at the barn then back down into her tear-stained eyes. Considering his words carefully, he answered the tiny woman before him, moving his tender grip from her wrists to her dainty hands.

"In any other circumstance, I'd be angry. But I know that you're confused and alone." His hands encompassed the whole of hers, never ceasing in his attempt to soothe her. "If you come with me, I'll do what I can to protect you until you're safely home."

"But…but you just met me. How could you add me to your baggage when you already have enough to handle?" She couldn't help but ask him, the words on her tongue hanging of worthlessness. "I'll only slow you down."

Schofield let go of her hands and reached down to where Blake's helmet was on the ground. Reaching up, he placed it upon her head, adjusting the strap underneath her chin with care and precision, wincing when he noticed the fresh fingerprinted shape bruises splotched across the clolumn of her throat. Then, he bent down and snatched up the canteen of milk, keeping in mind her need for nutrition.

"Because as of now you're considered to be under the protection of the British Army." Schofield answered enough, not wanting to get emotional about it. "I can't promise that all the danger is behind us, but I swear to the best of my ability to guard and guide you on this journey."

She felt the sting of doubt in the back of her mind. No man would surely be that dedicated to her within such a short amount of time. Then again, she was in a different era…

"How do I know you won't leave me behind when it's more convenient, Will?" She dared to reach up and grab his jacket collar, spitting out his shortened name. Their eyes never leaving each other…

"A gentleman's word is resilient, Emmanuelle. Perhaps even more than a soldier's." The absolution in his voice, hard like steel, stabbed straight through the both of them with the ferocity of a double edged sword. "And I could tell Blake was fancying you."

The embers from the fire floated around them as their promises bound them together in this small piece of hostile serenity.

Come hell or high-water, Lance Corporal William Schofield would see this woman safely to her destination and Emmanuelle Hunterson would figure out why she was whisked away into this war and into this damned century.


	3. There Was a Lady

Emmanuelle wiped away the remainder of the stinging tears and dried blood from her face, her hands trembling.

"Where…where are we going, William?" She managed to squeak out amidst the crash of the collapsing barn behind them.

"We need to get the line of the second Devons, beyond a town called Ecoust." Schofield removed a knife from his uniformed vest; similar to the one Blake had been wounded with. "We…" He paused, his voice halting with a choking grief. "I have to deliver a message to stop an attack that's happening tomorrow at dawn."

Emmy nodded in understanding, her frenzied mind trying to keep up with everything that had transpired within the last hour. She had never felt more horrified, hopeful and then guilt-ridden in such a minimal amount of time. The weight of it on her body made her want to physically and mentally disappear.

"What if you don't make it in time?" The question escaped from her mouth before she could stop herself. The answer was obvious, but she needed verbal clarification this was definitely the reality in front of her. She could not dream up something like this.

"There's one more thing to do." He shifted around answering her question, keeping his eyes on her face. "This dress will be more trouble than it's worth."

The soldier's eyes went down to the dirt at her feet before looking back into her eyes, asking silently for permission from her. After a second, Emmy only gave a brisk, single nod.

Schofield knelt down to the ground at her feet, taking a fistful of her flowing skirt in his hand, knife still in his grip. He didn't make eye contact with her. The somewhat dull blade began to cut the fabric around her legs. His hands were deliberately avoiding touching the scratched up skin of her legs.

"So it won't get caught on anything. Best to travel practically." He explained in a blunt way, keeping his focus on ripping the fabric apart to where it was above her ankles, but concealing her knees still.

A blush colored her cheeks even though embarrassment was the last thing she ought to have been feeling given the situation and location she was in.

Being in such an intimate position, a soldier kneeling at her feet and handling the clothing around the most sexually revealing part of her body, should have made her feel scandalized and humiliated.

And she was in the time period where she would be labeled as little more than a common street woman should anyone else see them in this position…

The tearing of the skirt's being ripped away into strips broke her away from her thoughts. Schofield stood back up to his feet, putting his knife back into his uniform sheath. Blue pieces of velvet and silk were crumpled in his hands, his arms reached out to her.

"So no lady less divine may wear it." He gently pushed the strips of the dress into her hands. A soft smile graced his face despite the fog of fatigue within the deep ocean of his eyes, most likely for her sake considering that his comrade lay dead only a yard away from them.

Emmy grasped his hands within hers in a silent gesture of thanks, gently squeezing them. Her heartbeat began to increase for some undecipherable reason for a few seconds until she released Schofield's hands, hers entwined with the scraps of useless ribbon and silk. Turning away from him to face the dying fire of the barn, she threw the pieces of clothing into the remaining flames.

Blake's previous words about her dress filled her with a sense of melancholy as she turned to see Schofield going toward to where his dead friend lay, pale and motionless. Emmy forced herself to follow, joining the soldier as she knelt by Blake's head, a moment to grieve however brief. She wasn't certain what to do, considering she'd only known both of them for an hour, maybe two.

Schofield stared at his unmoving companion, feeling something move against him at his side. His eyes turned to see Emmanuelle resting her head upon his shoulder, her wild mahogany hair tickling his chin as it blew in the breeze from underneath the helmet she wore. His pulse vibrated through his veins as the emotional sensation of gratitude flowed through him at this girl's empathetic presence.

It only made him more determined to keep his promises made. To General Erinmore in delivering the message that meant life or death, to Blake in finding his brother to confirm his being alive, and to Emmanuelle Hunterson in seeing her returned securely to wherever she had come…

Their tender moment of reflection was shattered by the sound of other voices.

"You alright?" Another male voice entered Emmy's ears, causing her to leap to her feet.

Schofield jumped up to his own feet at the same time, maneuvering the startled girl behind him, positioning himself to hide her from potential threat.

Another male soldier, in similar uniform to Schofield, held his hands up, showing he meant no harm. To Emmanuelle's relief, the British accent in his voice was clear to her. Schofield turned his head around to face her silently, nodding his head to show there was no danger to her. Reinforcements were here to help.

She stepped out from behind him, revealing her tattered state of attire. The soldier raised his eyebrows at her appearance in a confused manner before seeing the body of Blake lying by them.

"Jesus, what happened to him?" The soldier asked. Neither Schofield nor Emmy responded. "Was it the plane? We saw the smoke."

"Yes." Schofield answered him.

Emmy stayed quiet, not certain what to say in the situation. Her eyes were downcast to the ground. Her hand, almost by instinct, reached for Schofield's to assure herself that he would be by her side. He responded immediately to her touch, communicating that she was no longer alone in this foreign wasteland.

Another man stepped into their view from behind the uniformed stranger questioning them.

"Go fetch his things." The man ordered him, authoritative and firm but with a soft edge.

"Yes sir." The soldier obeyed, going to grab whatever else Schofield needed in order to proceed on the remainder of this trek.

From what Emmy could see, the man was clearly older and of a superior rank. His dark eyes were kind as he took in the sight of both her and Schofield, especially softening at seeing her standing, comparatively vulnerable next to the much taller lance corporal at her side.

"A friend?" The older man spoke to her softly, gesturing to the body of Blake with the pointing of his cane.

Emmanuelle nodded, keeping her eyes again downcast, afraid of disrespecting the captain, if she were to guess his exact rank.

"Yes, sir." Schofield answered, his voice direct.

"What are you doing here?" The captain asked.

Emmanuelle gulped before speaking up, not wanting to give the impression of a silent waif. Somebody had to acknowledge her peculiar state of undress.

"I…I'm a nurse, sir. I was assigned to accompany these two men. My dress was ruined when the barn caught fire." She lied, hoping that whatever came out of her mouth was at least half believable.

The captain looked at her as he absorbed her explanation. Perhaps he was only being polite and not wanting to call her out on the fabrication…

"I see, my dear. I'm glad that you weren't harmed in the chaos." His response was comforting to Emmanuelle, her erratic heartbeat decreasing to a normal rate.

The captain turned his eyes directly to Schofield next, waiting for what the young corporal would respond with.

"I have an urgent message for the 2nd Devons. Orders to stop tomorrow morning's attack." Schofield said to the captain, his fingers intertwining with those of the woman beside him. The captain glanced down briefly at their interlocked hands, but said nothing toward that subject.

There were more important things to concern one's self with than the nature of a relationship between a lance corporal and a particularly dressed "nurse".

"Where are they stationed?" The captain asked.

"Just beyond Ecoust." Schofield almost choked on his words. Emmy unlinked their hands and placed hers upon his shoulder, desiring to comfort him.

"Come with me, both of you." The captain ordered, walking toward the currently smoking barn, the flames having vanished.

Casting one final glance at Blake, Schofield felt Emmanuelle link her arm around his, leading him towards where the captain was walking and directing them to follow.

"You can feel at peace knowing he's no longer suffering and is in Heaven." Emmy whispered to him, leaning up to his ear.

They both stopped in their tracks. Everything vanished around Schofield for the briefest moment, all the noises of faint voices in the distance, the desolate farmland he was more than eager to leave behind and never look back towards…

Everything disappeared except for the girl before him, her words of inconceivable compassion echoing in his restless mind. Despite her fear and desperation to get out of this godforsaken landscape, she put all that aside in a selfless act of kindness to make certain he felt better.

They locked eyes again and this time, Schofield wanted to be a bit bolder in expressing his gratefulness to her. His un-bandaged hand, his fingertips edged with powder burns from recently shooting his rifle at the German pilot, reached up toward her face….

She closed her eyes, as if anticipating his touch, but he pulled away at the sound of the captain's voice.

"Come with me, Corporal. That's an order." His tone was firm, directed at both of them even though he only mentioned Schofield specifically.

They continued following the captain, Emmanuelle's arm still linked to Schofield as they walked around kindling pile of the farmhouse and toward the sound of vehicles and more soldiers. An entire cavalry convoy…

The private that had first alerted them of the convoy's presence came up to Schofield and handed him back his rifle, silently acknowledging the lance corporal before tipping his own helmet to Emmanuelle in gentlemanly respect. She briefly smiled in response but couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Emmy's grip around Schofield's arm tightened, a queasiness invading her stomach at the thought of being surrounded by strange, restless and rowdy men, being the only woman around and possibly the first one all of them had set eyes on in months. A shiver racked her spine at the sound of raucous laughter from one of the trucks mixed with random shouts of profanity and insults from further up the line, something about a tree trunk obstructing the road and trying to clear it out.

What were the odds they weren't as chivalrous and careful with her Blake and Schofield were?

"We're passing through Ecoust. We can take you some of the way." The captain offered as they approached the side of the final truck in the line-up, thankfully out of view from the soldiers waiting to keep going. The three of them went to the truck up front where the tree trunk was being moved by a group of privates and sorts of other ranks Emmy didn't recognize.

"Excuse me, Captain." She spoke up, halting both men. The superior officer turned to listen, his gaze upon her curious and patient, which she was thankful for. "Would it be possible to have something to wear over my dress? I…I would feel exposed, sitting in the truck amidst all these men…"

She trailed off intentionally, praying for her dignity that the captain would understand. Schofield's eyes flitted between both her and the commanding officer, mentally preparing himself to defend her should the captain be anything but respectful to a woman rightfully concerned about her physical safety.

After a silent pause of contemplating her question, the captain smiled softly at her and removed his own coat, which would for certain cover her entire body, more so than the dress had before being torn to shreds.

"You may take mine, Miss." The captain reached out toward Emmanuelle with his brown long-coat, decorated with multiple stars alongside the wide brimmed color and worn at some of the seams. "Need not to worry about returning it, either."

Emmy carefully took the coat into her hands, pulling the sleeves around her arms. Schofield moved behind her to help adjust it securely around her petite form, making sure it fit on her shoulders so as not to let it fall. The bottom went straight down to cover her ankles. After the coat was fastened around her, she removed her helmet briefly and allowed Schofield to carefully bunch her hair up to fit inside and further conceal her appearance as a woman. Despite her hair being tangled in untamable knots, she didn't feel a bit of head related pain; Schofield handled her hair as if it were the finest silk.

"Sir, are you certain I can't return the favor and give it back?" She certainly didn't want to take advantage and get special treatment from these strangers, being so out of her element.

"Absolutely not. You would have more use of it than I." The captain's tone held that of a fatherly assurance toward her. Tears brimmed in her eyes…

She didn't know how much more of this underserved virtuousness she could take.

"Lance Corporal, I'll inform the Colonel up ahead that you two are being added to our troupe for the time being. You find yourselves a seat. It may be a bit crowded." With a final courtesy nod toward Emmanuelle, he turned from there and walked toward the front line of the ensemble, where that tree was finally removed from blocking the road.

Schofield went around Emmy to get a good look at her disguise. Even with her long hair hidden and body covered in a captain's over-coat, her features were still soft, feminine and…distracting. They needed to add one more thing.

"Hold still for a moment, Emmanuelle." He bent down and grabbed up some fresh dirt in his hands. Rubbing it between his palms, he looked the girl straight in the eye. "This should help conceal your facial features from them."

"Surely, I can't be that attractive to be making every man in those trucks want to…" She stopped herself before finishing that sentence.

Schofield felt anger boil through his body at the thought of her being violated in such a way, no doubt that it had crossed her mind when she first encountered him and Blake. He managed to calm himself by brushing the dirt along her cheeks and forehead, his fingertips tingling at the softness of her skin.

The concentration in his eyes reminded Emmy of a painter stroking his brush along the white canvas with the dedication of a true artist, as though her face was the most delicate of things Schofield had ever laid his hands upon…

The honking of the trucks broke them from their task. Schofield took one last look at her, taking in her appearance, much changed from the ashen-faced damsel he had found in the farmhouse.

"Come on, they're leaving now." Taking her small hand within his as if it were a natural habit, he led her to the final truck in the line-up, where it would be easier to locate where to jump off from.

Emmanuelle hesitated as Schofield stepped up to the truck, feeling the numerous eyes of strangers upon her, dread coiling around her abdomen like a snake encircling its prey. Schofield's hand holding hers kept her tethered from stepping back.

"Emmy." He spoke softly her nickname, dropping the twentieth century speech pattern of using her full name or formal use of her last name. "I swear on my honor as a soldier, I will not allow you to be harmed while you're at my side."

She looked straight into those sky-blue eyes of his, knowing he was begging for her to believe and trust him. Then, her line of sight moved to the soldiers seated inside the truck, talking amidst each other, eager to move along to their destination.

At last, she stepped closer to Schofield, removing her hand from his to place both of them upon his shoulders. Understanding what she was preparing for him to do, he bent down and held his own hands to her waist, gingerly hoisting her up into the truck before pulling himself up inside to join her.

She found a space by the edge so she could have a clear view of the outside, Schofield beside her as he sat down. The vulgar odor of cigar smoke invaded her nostrils along with the noise of the soldiers chattering about subjects she could have cared less about in various accents her mind did not have the energy to listen for which belonged to what region.

None of them attempted to make conversation with her, or even acknowledged her existence. Schofield only vaguely telling them why they were hitching a ride on the truck, for a deadline that couldn't afford to be missed.

She was just glad to be resting, Schofield's hand holding hers keeping her from drifting off…

Then, the lurching of the truck stopping suddenly broke the supposed calm and all the men groaned in irritation. The tires beneath the truck drowning in the mud…

Emmanuelle leaned out and saw the mud splattering from the tires struggling in the soaked ground.

Before Schofield could say anything, she leapt down from the truck and managed to land on the grass so her shoes wouldn't get caught in the mud. She heard footsteps follow close behind her, no doubt her designated protector, but she had to do something other than stay silent in the corner…

How would she ever get home if she didn't take action?

"You need to put it in reverse." She yelled to the driver, who she recognized as the Private who first came upon them at the farmhouse just awhile ago. Her voice wasn't even hidden under a lower tone to pass herself off as a man. "Reverse!"

Her gender be damned, someone had to do something productive…

The privates in both the driver's and passenger's seats both stared as she dared to give orders. Removing the helmet to free her hair, she revealed herself as a young woman, and by God's will she was going to give these men some sensibility to get out of this situation.

"Emmanuelle, what on earth are you doing?" Schofield rushed to her side, his voice toned with worry and aggravation. He sounded out of breath from trying to push the truck out of the mud. His hands gently grasped her shoulders. His gaze held her own, silently expecting something for her to say. "You can't order around soldiers like this."

"Why? Because I'm not a soldier or because I'm a woman?" She questioned him bluntly, which took the normally stoic Lance Corporal by surprise.

"It's about your safety." He avoided answering her interrogative statement, much to her annoyance. "And we can't compromise their willingness to give us transportation."

Much to her chagrin, Schofield did have a valid point. If he was going to deliver that message on time, they had to take advantage of having vehicles at their disposal. She could dispute gender politics in the twentieth century when she was safe at home and this all was a distant nightmare of a memory.

"I'm sorry, William." She took hold of his hands within hers, massaging the rough callous of his palms. "I understand that you want to keep me safe."

Schofield nodded, pleased that she seemed to understand. Seeing her flowing hair free from Blake's helmet, her cheeks reddened with the chill in the air and her eyes alight with the fiery strength to keep going, he had never seen a visual more radiant than the woman who stood before him…

He opened his mouth to respond, but she pressed two dainty fingers to his lips to silence him.

"Getting this message to the Second Devons and finding a way home for me is not what you're going to do, but what we are going to do. And my being a woman shouldn't make any difference to getting this damned truck out of the mud." Her fingers traveled from his lips to his cheek, similar to when he had almost touched her face in that brief moment of intimacy back at the farm.

Schofield took ahold of her hand, pulling it away from his face and his lips chastely kissing the pulse of her wrist.

"You make a hard bargain to resist, Emmanuelle Hunterson." That was when Schofield knew for sure…

This woman from the future as she claimed to be…

Perhaps she was sent here to be part of his own future…


	4. Never Let Me Go

"Everybody needs to get out of the truck now! We need to push it out!" Emmanuelle shouted as she went around to the back of the truck, Schofield following close behind.

Both of them saw a handful of soldiers standing around in the grass, chatting to each other or smoking to wait out the delay in travel. The other half of them were still in the truck, just sitting and grumbling about being stuck again.

Emmy huffed out an irritated breath as the vehicle's back wheels continued to struggle in the soaking mud. She could sense Schofield's presence at her side, his observant eyes going between her and the group of bored restless men, wondering how she would regulate them in line.

Blake would be having a right laugh at what was happening, but not at the expense of the girl...

"All of you! Corporals, privates! All of you!" She continued to shout at the men, her voice a clear ringing bell amidst the deeper rumbles of masculine laughter. She kept her focus on the group in the truck. Some of them turned their heads and their eyes widened at the sound of a female voice and the sight of a woman clad in their captain's coat.

Schofield stepped forward as the men, both on the grass and in the truck, only stared with confusion at the notion of Emmanuelle acknowledging them in such an authoritative voice. He knew time was running out each minute this truck was trapped.

"Everyone, we need to come forward and push!" He demanded in a desperate tone as he went to the rear of the truck and began pushing. "Come on! Help me, please!"

His eyes met Emmy's, as if he were looking to her for guidance or perhaps inspiration...

Some of the men standing in the grass went to assist Schofield, who was yelling at the top of his lungs in the effort he was pushing his body with, no doubt further damaging his hands as well. His face was red and his teeth clenched together in using all the possible strength he had in his body.

When was the last time he had eaten or slept?

Emmanuelle stepped forward closer to the group of struggling men, rage coursing through her at the sight of some of the straggler soldiers still in the truck and adding extra weight inside.

Schofield and the others assisting him let go of the truck, still unsuccessful in their labors.

"All of you, in the truck! Get your asses out now!" Emmy shouted, not caring what words they may say or what they may try to do to intimidate her.

"Hey, you've got no business being here, girl!" One of them barked to her in protest.

"And you have no business being in the Army if you don't get off your backside and help get this damn truck out of the mud!" She retaliated back, her posture arched straight with confidence.

The sound of her voice aggressively pushing the men to aid them made adrenaline course through Schofield's body, gathering more drive to push the truck again. They locked eyes, an unspoken understanding between them that now was not the time to be worrying about who was ordering who around.

The remaining soldiers finally began filing out of the truck, dropping down and joining the others to give one final push. Schofield heard some of the soldiers mumbling choice words referencing Emmanuelle in not the most flattering way, but he kept the anger under control.

"Come on, everyone! We need to push!" Emmy joined Schofield's side at the back of the truck, the hem of her captain's coat and shoes caked in mud. She began pushing, knowing that her slight frame most likely wouldn't make much of a difference, but she needed to help in any way she could.

The wheels turned again as the driver accelerated. Everyone pushed, shouting and grunting. Schofield sounded to be in pain, releasing his frustration from the events that had happened in only the last few hours and the pressure of what he absolutely could not let happen...

He had failed Blake by letting him out of his line of sight on this mission.

He would not allow the same to happen to the girl pushing the truck alongside him, branding whatever place she could secure for herself in this country and this time she was not from...

He would not see her die...

At last, the sensation of the truck moving forward broke Schofield out of his distraught thoughts. He caught himself as he fell forward into the mud. Emmy had landed in the mud too, trying to lift herself up. She stood up onto her feet, wiping her hands off onto the captain's coat.

Schofield went to make certain she was alright. Her foot was caught in a deeper hole of mud, grasping onto her shoe. She bent down at her ankle to try to pull it out, but to no avail.

The tired soldier bent down to where her foot was stuck, reaching down at feel for her shoe. Her bare, bandaged foot was released, but her shoe was still submerged. Emmanuelle placed her hands onto Schofield's shoulder to help in her balance.

Before they could try to grab the shoe, one of the soldiers from the truck, a bearded man of Sikh nationality with kind eyes and who had immediately gone to help Schofield in pushing, bent down to where her shoe had sunk and managed to pull it out.

"I believe this is yours, Miss." The man looked at Emmanuelle with genuine politeness, using the sleeve of his jacket to clean the shoe. "If you give me your other shoe, I can clean it. It's the least I can do to thank you for helping us."

"We need to go." Schofield softly directed to the both of them. "Emmanuelle, let's get you out of the mud."

He bent down and carefully placed one of his arms around her back, her arm going to wrap around his neck as though it were completely natural. She looked into his eyes, her breath leaving her lungs at what he was about to do.

Schofield swept his other arm underneath her knees and gathered her up in a bridal carry. 

The Sikh went to where her lovely legs dangled over Schofield's arm and carefully removed Emmy's other shoe, wiping the mud off with his own uniform sleeve. He had absolutely no reaction toward the position the young lady was in, being literally swooped off her feet by a soldier as though it was a completely natural thing to do.

The coat around her frame made the lance corporal grasp a little tighter onto her with its coarser material, but he noticed the definite difference compared to when he carried her after she had fainted back at the farmhouse. Her thankful smile made him catch his breath and ignore the wolf-whistles from the soldiers, playfully mocking his act of chivalry.

"We did it, Will." Emmy whispered only for him to hear. Her fingertips touched his jaw-line in a reassuring gesture. "We're one step closer."

Schofield couldn't find appropriate words to respond with, only gently placing her to sit on the edge of the truck, her legs dangling down. He noticed a splotch of mud near the corner of her bottom lip. His thumb wiped it away, just barely grazing her mouth with the utmost precision. His hands took a grasp of hers, bringing them to his lips and planting a respectful kiss upon her miniature knuckles, thanking her in his own silent way.

The gesture made her want to wrap her arms around him and never let go. To show what he was beginning to mean to her, the measures he was going to insure her comfort and safety when he only knew her since earlier that afternoon...

The Sikh soldier handed her the shoes to be placed back onto her feet.

"Thank you, sir." Emmanuelle thanked him profusely; glad to have her shoes back. She went to sit down on her seat nearest the truck's edge.

Schofield hoisted himself back inside and sat next to her, missing the warmth of the woman he had just held in his arms.

The raging ocean of emotions flowing through Schofield ebbed within him at the feeling of Emmy taking one of his hands within both of hers, her fingertips exploring the material of the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Then, they moved to his calloused fingers, hardened with blisters and scratches...

So many stories to be told with just the sight and feel of his hands, the same ones that had touched her with nothing but concentrated gentleness, yet she had seen them handle the rifle that he had shot the German pilot with...

She leaned against his shoulder, sighing with exhaustion...

Her eyes closed and she dared to rest her eyes for a minute while Schofield released his hand from her grip and enfolded his arm around her petite waist, wanting to keep her from inching too close to the truck's edge should she almost fall out and injure herself.

With his other hand, Schofield reached into his uniform tunic and pulled out a blue tobacco tin, rectangular in shape. Opening the lid, he checked to make sure the contents were safe and secure inside, especially the letter from General Erinmore about the approaching attack tomorrow...

Placing the parchment back into the tin, he secured it back inside his tunic. The truck went over a bump, jostling everyone around. Emmanuelle snuggled closer into Schofield's arm wrapped around her, disturbed from her semi-consciousness momentarily before sinking back in. Her head laid onto his uniformed collarbone, showing her full trust in him to not let her fall from the vehicle's sudden jerky movement.

Schofield closed his eyes as well, exhaling out at the virbration of his heartbeat increasing at the peaceful demeanor of the girl slumbering against him. As a soldier, he most definitely could not afford to display weakness. But, perhaps that wasn't entirely the problem...

This girl who had displayed more than what he had initially thought she was capable of. So much willfulness inside one who had not weighed much when he had her in his arms...

"She's quite a remarkable woman." The Sikh soldier spoke up to Schofield, breaking him away from the musings in his head.

"Yes, she is." Schofield agreed, thinking that it was an understatement but not saying it aloud. "God placed her in my path." He whispered, glancing down with reverence at a still dozing Emmy.

The Sikh recognized the way Schofield's exhausted face then melted into that of another expression he recognized as something beyond compassionate affection toward a female companion... Something definitely deeper...

"So, where are you going?" The Sikh asked Schofield, keeping the conversation steered away from other personal topics.

"I have to get to the 2nd Devons, just past Ecoust." Schofield explained, blinking away the fog of fatigue from his eyes. "They're walking into a trap."

"How many men?" A fellow British private on the Sikh's side curiously interrogated.

"Sixteen hundred." Schofield tensed up at the reminder of the numbers, feeling the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

"Why in the hell would they send you alone with a girl?" Another private asked, more abrasive in his questioning. "It's not like can you make it in time of you have to drag her around with you."

"They didn't send her with me." Schofield corrected him, daring the rude private to insinuate anything in regards to Emmanuelle, who was stirring slowly awake against him. "I will make it in time. And I gave her my word I'd keep her safe."

Both privates stayed silent, wondering to themselves why the lance corporal was bothering himself with this woman.

Before any other discussion could be had, the truck halted to an abrupt stop again. Emmanuelle opened her eyes at the movement and Schofield moved his arm from her waist to her shoulders, assuring her that no danger was present.

The soldiers around them groaned in frustration. Emmy stood up to stretch her legs and released an ungraceful yawn. Some of the men gave out good-natured chuckles at her behavior. Fighting back a flustered blush, she heard the driver call out from the front of the truck.

"Bridge is out!"

The more blunt of the two privates beside the Sikh soldier raised his eyebrows in faux shock. "That's a shame."

Schofield gathered himself up from the truck seat, gesturing toward Emmanuelle.

"Looks like we'll be getting out here." He jumped out, landing onto the rough dirt road. "Good luck."

Schofield then held out his hands for Emmy to take, aiming to assist her out of the vehicle. Their gazes connected again as she placed her hands within his, becoming used to the comforting feel of them. Taking a good leap with her legs, she landed down beside him with surprising ease.

"Keep some of that luck for yourself, mate." One of the privates responded to Schofield's good-willed statement of comradeship. "Think you'll be needing it." The private briefly turned a leering look in Emmy's direction.

She took Schofield's hand in hers, not caring if the soldiers saw. Let them say what they pleased...

"I hope you get there. Both of you." The Sikh soldier kindly wished the sentiment upon them.

"Thank you." Emmanuelle said, nodding her head in respect.

Schofield looked away from the exchange to survey their surroundings. The landscape was most definitely unfamiliar. They had stopped next to a destroyed canal, the bridge submerged from the middle into a body of murky water.

The captain who had assisted them in acquiring their transport approached the both of them. "The next bridge is six miles. We'll have to divert."

"I can't, sir. I don't have the time." Schofield glanced toward the sun that was already beginning to sink below the cloudy horizon.

"Of course." The captain held his hand to the lance corporal for a gentleman's honorable handshake. "Best of luck to the both of you."

Slight worry invaded in the captain's gaze aimed at Emmy as he released Schofield's hand.

"Thank you, sir." Schofield nodded his head to the superior officer.

"One more thing, corporal." The captain stopped himself from turning away from the duo. "If you do manage to make it to Colonel Mackenzie, make sure there are witnesses."

"They're direct orders, sir." Schofield informed the captain, uncertain of what he was referring to.

"I know." The captain sighed out in understanding to the younger man. "But some men just want the fight."

Schofield absorbed his words, his frenzied mind processing the implications of the captain's statement. "Thank you, sir."

The lance corporal found his hand holding Emmanuelle's in an even firmer grip, his protective instincts bubbling up to the surface.

With a farewell nod to him and a polite tip of his parade hat to Emmy, the captain turned away and walked back up the front of the convoy, commanding that they continue moving forward.

The sound of the vehicles departing, the engines buzzing in Emmanuelle's head as she took in the sight in front of her, what their next obstacle to face was...

Schofield looked at the structure with a quiet determination, breathing out a deep sigh as he led Emmy toward the demolished bridge. The entire middle section was submerged in the water. The surface of it was so dark it was impossible to see anything underneath.

Emmanuelle shivered at the thought of sinking below, possibly being impaled by some unfortunately placed debris.

Schofield didn't see any other way to pass through into the town across the canal. If the half the bridge was sinking into the water, how in the hell would they get across?

Right where the bridge railing began, there was a wide, stone platform about seven feet high.

"Emmanuelle, I'm going to need you to trust me again." He unclipped the strap of Blake's helmet from where it had been around her neck to where it would rest comfortably beneath her chin. The helmet may have been a little large for her smaller head, but it have to do in protecting her from head injuries.

"I trust you, Will." Her voice contained no hesitation or wavering in her confidence she had for him.

The breath in her lungs stopped as he tenderly adjusted her long hair behind her shoulders, but she kept her gaze on him, trying to digest what plan he had to get them on the other side.

He released her shoulders, doing his best to keep calm for both of their sakes. Taking her hand again, he led her to the stone platform by the bridge. It was at least a foot taller than Schofield's towering height at six feet.

An understanding came between them as Schofield held his hands to Emmy's waist, her own hands upon his shoulders similar to when he had first lifted her up into the convoy truck. She took deep breaths, closing her eyes as she tried to calm herself.

"Emmaunuelle, remember what I said before at the truck." One of his hands caressed her cheek, leaving small markings of ash and dirt along her smooth skin.

She looked into his cerulean eyes, shining with determination. I won't let you be harmed while you're at my side.

Emmy nodded her head, taking his hand that her just then stroked her face as though she materialized from flower petals, easily susceptible to damage. Her chapped lips placed on his rough fingers her own kiss of mutual thankfulness.

Schofield's heart skipped a beat at her expression of trusting him and his promise to her. Adjusting his hands back onto her waist and his eyes never leaving hers, he used whatever stroke of adrenaline he possessed to lift her up onto the platform.

She stood above him, bending down to assist him up. He managed to climb up with her literal helping hand.

They were both standing in open air, exposed to the elements and what possible hazards awaited them. Schofield's breath choked when he saw the tall structure of an abandoned lock-house building near the edge of the canal. His arm enfolded around Emmy to assure that she was close by and he was positioned to shield her.

He looked ahead at the railing, knowing the risk that had to be taken for them to get across.

"My shoes won't have enough purchase on the railing without slipping." Emmanuelle basically said aloud what Schofield was thinking. His boots possibly had enough traction against the metal railing if he could balance enough to walk along its short width.

"I'll have to carry you." Schofield knew they had no other choice if they were both to get across in a timely manner. The sun was already starting to dip lower into the western sky. Bending down, he swept her up into his arms again, securing his grip under her slight back and under her knees.

Emmanuelle's arms enfolded in a near choke-hold around his neck, her eyes locked onto the black water below them. She gasped, her breaths coming out in short instances similar to hyperventilation.

"Don't be frightened, Emmy." Again he used her nickname to console her. "Just close your eyes. Put your head against me and shut your eyes." He spoke softly, no hint of condescending in his tone.

She shut her eyes tight, struggling to concentrate on anything else other than the sound of Schofield's deathly cautious steps upon the railing.

Her mind battled against her and she counted each sound of his boots...

One...

The scent of Schofield's uniform, the faint aroma of tobacco ash and gunpowder mixed with some kind of cologne...

Two...

The way his uniform collar rubbed her forehead as she leaned her cheek against his shoulder...

Three...

The way he was holding her securely to him, doing his most absolute to make certain she knew he wouldn't let loose of her. If they had been anywhere else and he had just been carrying her this way across the French countryside like Blake had jested about to her back at the farm, she could have fallen asleep this way, being cradled so by this man who had no stake whatsoever in her personal well-being...

Four...

The shot from the lock-house's tallest window shattered the calm surface of the water beneath them.

Schofield stopped in his limited tracks, clutching onto the woman in his arms more tightly in his being startled out of his focus.

Emmanuelle screamed, burying her face into his neck...

Five...

His foot slipped out from underneath him.

They were both in the murky water before they could process what was happening...

Emmanuelle was no longer in her soldier's safe hold, but now she was in the water. Her head managed to break the surface, spitting out the polluted fluids so she could call for Schofield.

His voice shouted her name, assuring her that he was okay. The shots from above them continued to break through the water.

Before she could gather enough oxygen to yell out to Schofield, she felt something wrap around her ankle beneath the water... Something weighted... and it was beginning to pull her down.

Panic invaded her mind as Schofield's name broke through her mouth.

He saw her head above the water and swam, worried that she was hurt from the fall. How could he have been so foolish to think this would work?

Then, to his horror, she disappeared underneath the surface...

Something was dragging her down under the water...

Emmy struggled to hold her breath, trying to reach for what object had caught around her leg. A cold metal chain attached to something, possibly a heavy piece of metal...

Her lungs weren't strong enough in the capacity to hold her breath for very long. She was losing this battle. The chain around her ankle pinched at her skin surely leaving it bruised...

Perhaps this was how she was meant to die...

She hoped Schofield would go on without her...

Her lips began to open, allowing the water to flood her mouth and travel down her throat and her vision darkened into a completely black void.

The shots had ceased from above her. She prayed for Schofield not to have been hit.

Her mouth opened wide as her body went numb; the agonizing sensation of drowning was certainly a way to go...

Maybe she was going home now...

She prayed with the last ounce of awareness that Schofield would choose the right path to go down for the mission he had.

Then, something wrapped around her abdomen and the chain was freed from around her ankle...

Bubbles of air emerged from her mouth as her eyes closed shut and the last thought crossing her mind was that a guardian hero had come to salvage her from the watery abyss...

William...


	5. No Time To Die

" _Emmy!" A male voice called her name, beckoning her to open her eyes and to breathe. From what she could hear, the voice wasn't that of her gallant lance corporal William Schofield…_

_The fog clouding her mind continued to smother her as she struggled to take control of her consciousness. She felt as though she were floating, her skin frigid with shivers from the soaking water._

" _Emmy!" The male voice called for her again, desperate to gain her attention._

_Recognition collided with her awakening memory as she regained the knowledge of the man whom the voice belonged to…_

" _Tom!" She yelled out, but no sound emerged from her throat. Water trickled from her mouth as her lungs ached._

" _Emmy, you need to wake up!" His face appeared to her, his once shining eyes dimmed with uncharacteristic weariness. "Scho needs you. You won't make it back home if you don't wake up."_

_Even though he was significantly shorter than Schofield, Blake was still able to somewhat tower over her slight frame, even if he was just an apparition in her unconscious dream state._

_She opened her mouth to respond, but only silence resulted. Her chest began convulsing, a pressure pushing upon her chest. Water exploded from her mouth as Blake disappeared, his eyes closing._

" _Go back to Scho. You'll find where you belong with him." Thomas Blake's voice began fading as the fog around Emmanuelle vanished and she was being pulled away into the depths of this mental purgatory. "I'll be watching over the both of you. You're the prettiest girl Joe will have seen since the war started."_

_She wanted to laugh at his joke, but was unable to as her convulsing and coughing combined and she fell downwards into blackness._

_._

_._

She was choking on the water, turning her head to the side to retch it all out. Her breathing began to even out with each instance of purging all that revolting liquid from her system.

A pair of large hands tenderly held back her hair as another coughing spasm racked through her recovering body. Her arms held her up she vomited out the last of the water, gasping to relax her breathing and calm down from the harrowing experience of drowning.

"Emmy." Schofield's voice graced her ears, the vocal personification of relief and concern. "Thank God!" His hands released her shoulders as she turned her head toward the worried soldier. "I thought you were lost to me."

"Will." She whispered his name, causing Schofield to sigh as if literal weight was pulled from his shoulders. She continued to surprise him with her strength…

He took her face in between his hands, studying to see if her condition was worse or better. Her eyes were slightly glazed over as she caught the last of her breaths. Her skin color barely began to regain color from the grey pallor of being near death when he laid her down on the pavement. The captain's coat no longer clothed her, only the tattered remains of her blue dress.

He himself was soaking wet from falling into the water, his helmet still attached to his head while hers was lost in the shallow depths of that damned swamp of a canal.

Her forehead pressed to his as they both took this moment to be relieved that they were both still alive.

Then, it all came flooding back to her.

The sniper…

Emmanuelle pulled away from Schofield, grasping onto his forearms. "How are we going to go any further with that sniper shooting at us?"

Her question came out in a rushed whisper as she looked up to the sky, deciphering the time of day. Orange sunset rays scattered across the dipping horizon. Nighttime would soon be upon them…

A gunshot shattered the calm between them, cracking into the stonewall staircase nearby. Schofield moved as fast as a lightning strike, pushing the petite woman behind him, keeping her out of the sniper's vantage point however in vain his attempt was…

He turned his head toward her, his face stern and etched with determined concentration. "No matter what, you stay behind me."

She nodded, shivers of fear threatening to paralyze her. Her hands grasped onto his leather pack clinging onto his upper back, no doubt carrying food and supplies. Schofield was just as vulnerable to a bullet as she was, unless by chance it was a headshot where his helmet would protect him.

But, if he was to be shot and killed, who would deliver that message?

If anything, he had to survive above her…

Another shot rang through her ears as she pressed her hands to them, not accustomed to the sound as Schofield was. He stood up, firing his own rifle above the stone wall, up at where the shooter was positioned at the highest window in the lockhouse.

Against her better judgment, she kept her eyes on the lance corporal as he continued to fire at least three more shots, making certain that the sniper couldn't retaliate.

She noticed that in between the shots fired from his gun, Schofield would crouch down to catch his breath. She grasped onto his shoulder, feeling him tremble with what she could guess was adrenaline. His eyes briefly locked with hers at the feel of her touch, his hands clenching onto the gun as though it were his own personal lifeline.

Taking another breath as he turned away from Emmanuelle, he rose up above the wall and braced himself to take another shot. The sniper hadn't made another attempt to hit him yet. If they were to make it across the town safely, nothing could be left up to chance…

He fired his gun again, aiming with precise success at the window frame where he'd seen the shooter. No other shot responded…

Emmy's shaking arms enfolded around his waist as he turned back to her, one hand holding the rifle and the other upon her pale cheek.

"I think I got him. But I need to check." Schofield assured her of what had to be done before they could move further.

She only nodded, placing her own hand upon his, gently removing it from her face so he could focus on the task ahead of them. Her other arm released his waist to free both of her hands, her breath uneven not only from the shots ringing in her head but in preparation for what she was about to do.

Her small hands took hold of Schofield's face, her eyes looking straight into his as he froze, his hands still grasping onto his rifle. Being a head taller than her, he began to bend down toward her level, his gaze flitting to her lips, her tongue wetting them with what limited hydration remained in her body.

Emmanuelle placed her awaiting mouth to Schofield's brow, his helmet preventing her from completely kissing his forehead.

She pulled away, adjusting his helmet properly onto his head. He kept his eyes on her, unfamiliar warmth flowing through his entire being despite his soaked uniform. Schofield was unable to form the words consisting of the question he wanted to ask her. Nevertheless, she answered him.

"For luck." Her voice was the sweetest music to his ears compared to the eardrum collapsing gunshots from just moments ago. "And to thank you for everything you've done for me."

Schofield battled with the tears threatening to show in his eyes. She didn't belong in this world, let alone didn't even ask to be placed in the middle of this godforsaken war.

He choked on the words he wanted to say to her in return, but knew nothing could be said further until later when they were out of danger.

One of his hands reached out toward her face, his fingers tracing along the left side of her jaw, his own silent gesture of wanting to convey a response to her kiss. His thumb skimmed across her rough and cracked lips, reminding him that when they had another chance to stop, they needed to replenish themselves with what food and drink was left.

Clutching onto his rifle with both hands, he turned to her again to whisper. "Don't get in front of me."

She nodded, placed one hand on the pack of supplies hanging from his back and the other upon his shoulder.

Schofield walked up the steps on the stone wall, Emmy following him and keeping in pace. Her chest began to ache and constrict with an oncoming coughing fit, but she managed to swallow it back down to a silent heaving, hoping the sharp soldier shielding her didn't hear.

The last thing he needed to worry for was her health. Lord knew what was in that water, if it hadn't already killed her then…

They advanced toward the demolished lockhouse, the all too potent smell of ash and smoke assaulting her nostrils. This town was decimated by every inch. Emmy felt her heart break for all the people that had surely suffered with this invasion.

The double doors of the lock house met their sight, Schofield pushing one open to allow them inside. Darkness with only slivers of evening light cracking through the ruined wood paneling gave them some idea into the interior structure of where this sniper was attacking them.

A staircase that led to the very top level gave Schofield an idea of where the perpetrator was. He went to the bottom where the banister railing began.

"Emmy, stay here until I come back." He pointed to her feet as she grasped onto the railing, emphasizing that he meant for her to not go anywhere alone. She had no argument to make there. Emmanuelle watched has he held up his rifle, bayonet glinting in the streaming rays of sunset, up towards the highest level, saying a silent prayer for Schofield to be safe in these moments he was out of her sight…

The thought of anything happening to that man, whom she had only known for mere hours, she reminded herself, made her want to scream and curse everything until her soul left her body just to keep her silent.

A shot rang out from above her just then, followed immediately by the sound of a body thudding to the wooden floor…

Emmanuelle froze, looking up to where Schofield had gone. If he had been shot…

She barreled up the steps, tripping a couple of times as she tried to make it up to the top level with the minimal lighting available for her sight. A source of sunset light coming from the window thankfully allowed her to be able to see as she came up the final level of staircase.

Something lying on the floor caught her eye, unmoving and splayed out.

"Will!" She gasped out, dropping down to her knees at his side. His helmet was knocked off his head, a pool of fresh blood pouring out from the base of his skull. His gun had dropped from his hands when he had fallen on one of the steps.

Her fingers reached down to his neck, feeling for his pulse. Her other hand placed above his nose, feeling for puffs of breath.

Her lance corporal lived!

Tears of relief flowed down her face at the confirmation of his still being alive. She bent down and placed a genuine kiss upon his forehead.

Another sound from above Emmy reminded her of the foreboding presence of the sniper. Something sounded like another body slumping down onto the floor.

With each moment it seemed, the sun dipped down lower into the horizon. Emmy managed to remove the bayonet from Schofield's rifle, using it as an improvised method to defend herself. She had to confirm the sniper was dead.

Creeping up the steps toward the tower room, she held the bayonet pointed toward the sniper's direction, bracing herself to plunge it into his body should he move. His body leaned under the windowsill where he had been perched while shooting at them. He made no movement in response to her presence. His head hung forward, his own rifle in his lap and a spot of fresh blood leaking from his chest, no doubt close enough to his heart to kill him.

A sigh of relief rushed though her lungs as she turned away from the dead sniper and went back to where Schofield lay prone on the base of the steps leading to that room.

She was back down to her knees, pulling out one of his uniformed packs to grab his knife, water canteen and some gauze. She had to stop the bleeding from his head. He was most likely already concussed from that fall.

She managed to turn him onto his side so she could gain access to the back of his head. Black blood leaked out from the area where impact had been and stuck in his brown hair. Taking one of his wrists into her hands, she double checked to make certain he had a pulse still and hadn't expired on her in those few moments she was away from his side.

Using Schofield's knife to cut more shreds out of her dress, she reached for the water canteen and soaked up the torn fabric into improvised rags to clean up the blood from the base of his skull. Not a minute to be wasted while she had so little light from outside left.

She did her best to keep focus on her task, dabbing Schofield's head and allowing the soaked rags to absorb the blood and cease the oncoming further bleeding. Her hands shook despite her taking deep breaths to calm herself.

When she was finished soaking up the blood from his head, she maneuvered him back to lay flat on the floor, his head and shoulders cradled in her lap so he wouldn't wake up on the hard floor in a pool of his own injuries.

Taking a roll of his gauze from its wrap, she tore off a piece and enfolded it as best as she could manage around his head. There was only so much of the material left in the roll, but she had to make sure he would recover from this, even though she had no nursing skills and was working with little resources.

So occupied was she on her work, she noticed too late that the sun had fully set outside. Her stomach began to growl much to her irritation.

Schofield began to stir in her lap, groaning with the pounding of his head. His eyes blinked open as he noticed his head was cushioned on a surface other than the hard wood floor. Dainty, gentle fingers wove through his hair.

_Emmanuelle._

The green-eyed brunette woman skyrocketed like a firework through his subconscious as he recalled being knocked out. Where was she?

"William?" Her voice echoed in his ringing ears as he struggled to come awake. "Will."

A laugh escaped through her mouth as she looked down at him with happiness, however brief it would be for them. The tears emerged from her eyes again, trickling down her cheeks to land on his forehead. A sob of exhaustion worked its way up her throat, but she shoved it back down, not wanting him to think she was injured.

"Em…Emmanuelle." His hand reached up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, calloused fingers grazing her cheek. "Are you hurt?"

She smiled down at him, his head still pillowed in her lap as she wiped away her delirious tears. "No, I was worried that you were gone. I found you at the bottom of these steps and bandaged you up as best I could after making sure the sniper was killed. We may not have any gauze left. And we lost daylight, the sun's gone down."

He sat up slowly as she talked, reaching behind his head to feel the back of it. The gauze stuck to his head to keep the bleeding from starting again. Looking around for his rifle and bayonet, he found both near the stairs where he had lain.

He turned to look at the woman who had stayed by his side and nursed his injury, disbelief and astonishment at the woman clothed in a raggedy dress on her knees, splotched everywhere with dirt, ash and blood, the urge to thank her as she had him earlier overcoming him. They both stood mere feet from each other, Schofield closing the distance between them as he strapped his rifle over his shoulder.

Her words trailed off as she saw the look in his eyes, something she recognized but was uncertain of how to feel.

Schofield's large hands cradled her face, as thumb wiping away a stray tear from her eye. Her own hands placed upon his uniform vest, feeling for the way his breathing slowed in his chest. In the increasing darkness, she could only slightly make out the question of what he wanted to do within his gaze.

She nodded her head slowly in silent consent and closed her eyes as he bent down toward her.

His lips pressed to hers, the touch of them so feather light she wasn't certain she felt them until he pulled away a few seconds later, barely sampling the taste of her.

He pulled away from her, wanting to kiss her deeper, to show the full extent of how far his care for her was increasing with everything they were enduring…

"Emmy. I know you deserve better than what you've been through today." He breathed in a low voice to her, still holding her face as though the slightest grip of his hands could break her. "But nothing I can give you will be enough to repay for what you've done."

Her mind swirled in confliction, processing the kiss he had given, wanting to know what was truly going through that enigmatic mind of his.

"Will…why did you pull me from the water?" The question exited her mouth before common sense could stop her. "You easily could've made it through the town faster if I wasn't holding you back."

His blue eyes flared up at the audacity of her words. His hands released her face and went to grab hers within his strong but tender grasp.

"Emmanuelle, you _will_ make it home safe to your family and loved ones. Soon you will be happy and not frightened for every second of your life." He seemed as if he wanted to continue with his proclamation, but he stopped himself, choking up with his words and his British-bred stiff upper lip preventing him from voicing what he was truly beginning to feel for this god-sent angel of a woman.

She opened her mouth to respond, but the unexpected sensation of light interrupted their moment. Through the lockhouse window, they witnessed a flare of fire up in the moonless sky to illuminate the town in an eerie otherworldly landscape.

Emmy gasped at the image literally burning through eyesight as Schofield pulled her close to his chest, his arms enfolded around her shuddering frame. She turned her away from the display of deceiving beauty courtesy of the enemy, hiding her face in his uniform vest, wanting to pretend this was just another dying dream prior to waking up again.

Whatever dreams that had been experienced before; the nightmare of hell was just beginning for the determined soldier and the lost woman who was claiming a fragment of his heart with every minute passing…


	6. Between Two Worlds

April 5th, 2020 London, England Emmanuelle Julia Hunterson walked through the gift shop of the Imperial War Museum, her hands clutching onto a thick book of World War One history as she sifted through the pages. Each page gave her even more insight into such a horrific but vital four years in history. The black and white quality of the photos along the blurred colors from the results of the pages being blotched from a printer error only made her look closer to decipher each soldier’s face. Her eyes were glued to the book as she walked up to the checkout counter, causing her to bump into a few disgruntled and impatient fellow tourists. She ignored their glares aimed in her direction, not able to remove her focus from the picture in the book she planned to purchase. Something about it pulled her towards the picture’s subject. She looked closer into the picture, trying to look closer to see the facial features of the men in the grainy photograph. According to the caption below the picture, two soldiers in the middle of an open field in Flanders, nearby a casualty clearing station. One of them, a tall dark haired Lance Corporal had his hand held out toward the other man, a Lieutenant with darker hair and slightly shorter stature. It seemed like the Corporal was handing something to the Lieutenant, something that glinted in the light similar to dog tags or possessions from a dearly departed comrade. She read the names the labeled the two soldiers: (Left): Lance Corporal Will Schofield. (Right): Lieutenant Joe Blake. Schofield hands over the dog tag and family rings belonging to Lt. Blake’s fallen brother Tom, who had joined with him on a mission to deliver a message to the 2nd Devons preventing an attack on German units that would cost 1600 British men on April 7th 1917. Emmanuelle slowly closed the book, holding it to her chest as a chilling shiver raked up her spine, as if the temperature in the room suddenly decreased into near subzero. “Next.” The cashier girl at the checkout suddenly called to Emmy, pulling back her attention. The startled American girl looked up and went to place the book on the glass-case counter. Emmy looked up at the bespectacled girl preparing to assist with her purchase of the book, History of World War I: BRITAIN. “Were you able to find everything you wanted?” The cashier asked her in a sincere sweet tone. Her nametag read Lauri. “Yes, I was, mostly.” Emmy nodded, looking behind her to see that she was the only customer left in the store. The clock off to the side on the wall read 7:30, only half an hour before the museum was to close for the night. “Is there something I can try to help you with before you buy this?” Lauri asked, a hint of a faint French accent flowing in her well-meaning question. Emmanuelle took a step back to look into the glass case of the counter, trying to see if any worthy souvenirs were available. A framed picture in the glass cabinet caught her eye, black and white and having one figure in view from the bosom up… A young woman, her dark hair in a single braid over her shoulder, stared into the camera and pierced her gaze straight at Emmy as she looked at the photograph, dated December 24th 1918. A wedding veil wreathed with what appeared to be cherry blossoms crowed upon her head, the lacy material flowing down past where the picture ended. The post-war bride held in her hands a bouquet of red and white poppies, the remembrance flower of The Great War… Emmanuelle’s mouth hung open in shock her heart began to pound in her chest as she looked closer at the unnamed woman’s features. This unnamed bride looked precisely like her, even in the lack of animated colors within the picture. An exact likeness of her; not just a vague resemblance in her face, but the proportions in her features were exactly similar. It couldn’t have been her, could it? An ancestor nobody had told her about? A doppelganger…? What was her name? Emmy’s breath hitched in her throat, her hands clutching onto the edge of the counter. “Are you alright, miss?” Lauri asked her with concern as Emmy wiped away some sweat from her brow. “Do you need help?” “No, I…I’m fine.” The American girl held her chin up, reassuring Lauri that nothing was wrong. “Um…that woman in the picture, the bride. Does she have a name?” She pointed to the framed photo, her fingertip smudging the glass slightly. “No, I don’t believe so.” Lauri went around to join Emmy on the other side of the counter. “But, lots of women have tried on that ring of hers.” Beside the picture sat the bejeweled trinket inside a velvet felt holder, like the one found in a jewelry store. “Has the ring fit anyone?” Emmy asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “No, it’s too small for any woman who’s tried it on. That’s why it’s still in this case.” Lauri went back around to her side of the counter and opened up the case to pull out the piece of coveted jewelry for an improved visual. The ring itself was a small round band of smooth gold with a crystal sparkle of round diamond in the center. Simple, but elegant, perhaps something to Emmanuelle’s own taste should she ever wear such a ring upon her finger. “Could…could I try it on? If it fits, I’ll take it off your hands.” Emmanuelle asked despite the logical part of her conscience telling her to just buy the history book and walk away without the ring. But, she couldn’t leave without knowing for absolute certain. Why did that woman, the anonymous twentieth century bride, resemble her so much? Or why did Emmanuelle look like her and who was the man to meet her at the altar? As though she were in a trance, Emmy removed the trinket from its satin case, taking a breath to calm down. A peal of thunder rumbled outside, causing her hands to shake as she slipped the ring upon the appropriate finger on her hand. It was a perfect fit, like Cinderella and the glass slipper… Emmanuelle felt Lauri’s silent stare on her the entire duration of the payment and transaction of the ring and history book. She didn’t even pay attention to the cost of the ring with the remaining amount of pounds she had. At least it was her final night in London before she was to head back home to her humdrum American life. However monotonous it was, she felt the homesickness creep inside her thinking of her loved ones, even though her family was somewhat distant with their own lives. She had to remind her mother numerous times that she wouldn’t even be in the country for a month; she wanted to see the world while she was still able to… The gift bag along with her purse felt as heavy as a bag of rocks in her hands as she hailed a cab. Water sprinkled on the top of her head, the black London cab providing her shelter from the oncoming storm, taking her back to the final night in her hotel. The ring still clung to her finger, mocking her with its regal Edwardian splendor. It was a gorgeous token of marital intention and she had no idea as to why she had spent the last of her English currency on such a prize. The ride back to her hotel was a silent blur, the rain pattering on the cab and the vehicle’s engine the only accompanying sounds. At last, she was back in her room, stripping off her clothes and changing down into her favorite hot-pink nightgown. The air around her felt sweltering and she had trouble breathing. The area on her finger where the ring was began to sting and burn. Battling the urge to gasp out a scream, she removed the ring and placed it on the table by the twin bed. She needed water. Feeling dehydrated, sweat beaded her forehead as she went to the small hotel room refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. She began to drink up all the liquid as though she had been stranded in the desert for days. Then, a strong wave of dizziness threatened her equilibrium. Her breath came out in gasps as she tried to steady herself against the kitchen sink, the water bottle spilling out onto the tile floor of the small kitchen. Then, the voices invaded her subconscious. They were male and only vaguely familiar, like she was remembering the video footage from the museum earlier in the day, the British accents unmistakably simple to understand. The room spun around her… “Why in God’s name did you have to choose me?” “I didn’t know what I was picking you for, Scho? Do you wanna go back?” “Nothing like a scrap of ribbon to cheer up a widow.” “Mum would make me and Joe pick cherry blossoms every year from her orchard back home.” As the room finally ceased spinning around her, Emmy managed to catch her balance on the mirror by her bed. Gasping out for breath, she looked up at herself, viewing the image of her reflection in the dust covered glass. Inside the mirror, she was in a wedding dress, the same one from the photograph no doubt the same from the identical white lace. In her reflection’s hands was the bouquet of poppies, the ring back upon her finger. And the cherry blossom wedding veil fit on her head, tailor made to fit her… Why do I look like her?! That final thought crossed her mind before it finally shut down in shock. Her eyes rolled back into her head as her eyelids closed and everything went black. Emmanuelle collapsed to the floor, the haunting image of her as a bride mercifully disappearing… . . . April 6th, 1917 “No matter what, do not let go of my hand!” Schofield and Emmanuelle stood outside the lock-house, looking up into the flares lighting the pitch black night sky. The lance corporal held tightly to her hand like an unbreakable vice as he gripped onto his rifle with his other hand. More shots fired at their feet, Emmy releasing a scream at the sound. Only then did she notice that Schofield no longer had his helmet. He wouldn’t be so lucky next time if his head was aimed at again for a shot. They ran for their lives, Emmy panting with the effort of trying to keep her shoes on her feet. She had to be able to run on her own. The last thing she wanted to be for Will was a burdensome woman who needed to be carried everywhere. The flares continued to light their way as they sprinted as fast as humanly possible, bullet ricochets flying around them to miss hitting them by nothing short of a miracle. Another coughing fit racked Emmy’s chest as they turned around a corner to hide by one of the ruined building structures. The light from above shone like a prison spotlight on them. Schofield stood against the wall, panting to catch his breath as he looked up at the disappearing flare, the shadows making a Picasso painting with the angles of his face. Emmanuelle fought back tears, enfolding her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed on his chest. His heartbeat began to calm at her touch despite the danger around them. He had to remind himself she was depending on him to stay strong, to be her protector. His arm that wasn’t occupied with his rifle went up to cradle her face with his hand. Schofield’s large fingers encompassed the whole of her chin, making her look into his eyes. “Remember my promise to you, Emmy.” Schofield ached to throw the gun aside and enfold both arms around her, wanting to shield her from those damned bullets raining down on them. But now was neither the time nor the place to display weakness. Emmanuelle nodded her head, a cough escaping her as her chest heaved with an ache, causing her to hope against the fates that she wasn’t becoming ill. “We need to keep moving. I’m fairly sure this is Ecoust.” He said the name of the town he and Blake were meant to pass through on their way to save the Second Devons. They ran again, Schofield still clutching onto her hand. One of the shots aimed at her feet, causing her to jump and nearly trip. The desperate Lance Corporal pulled her along as she managed to keep up with his longer strides, his height being much taller than hers. The ruins around them loomed over Emmy and Schofield, resembling the strange conjuring of monsters from the deepest of their nightmares. The lighting of the flares above them gave the impression of hellfire threatening to expose and burn them for eternity. It brought to her mind the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. A mere mortal man going into the depths of the Underworld to save his beloved from an unfortunate demise and would risk everything to preserve her soul. Was Schofield willing to risk everything to save her soul from being trapped, to get her home? Before she could contend further with her musings, Schofield had turned a sharp corner, pulling her into the wooden panels and through into the basement of a ruined house. The shadows swallowed them as Schofield’s breaths shook and only then did she hear the running steps of their pursuer, the faceless enemy shooting at them. Immediately, his arms were around her shaking form as they took a temporary reprieve of safety, concealed in darkness, their faces alight with the flames from a burning building outside. Her arms were around him again, the tears at last flowing down her face. She was so disgusted with herself for crying, but what else could she do at the moment? Schofield’s chin rested upon the top of her head, his nose tickled by her hair. He wanted to break down at her feet and cry with her. After all, every man had his breaking point and he was only human. He only held her in silence, allowing her to cry as he led her toward the dimly lit room that appeared to welcome them with a shambled refuge. Schofield held his arm out, gently pushing Emmy to stand behind him as he aimed his rifle out, checking for possible danger hiding in the room. It appeared to be deserted, only recently abandoned with a coal filled fireplace and only a pallet of blankets to make up for the absence of a proper bed. “It’s clear.” Schofield released his hold on the rifle, leading Emmy toward the pile of blankets. “You need to rest and eat.” She sat down onto the blankets, enfolding her arms around herself as Schofield removed the pack of supplies from his uniform, placing it by her feet. “Take what you want from there, I’ll start a fire.” Schofield gently instructed her. Emmy opened the pack, pulling out the milk canteen and some slices of ham with bread. It smelled delicious, even though it wasn’t to her particular preference of meat. Standing up from the bed with the food and milk in her hands, she went over to where Schofield was poking with an iron poker at the coals to light up a fire. She couldn’t help but admire his noble profile, illuminated by the borne again flames. “Will, you need to eat, too. And I won’t eat a bite until I see you do so.” She handed toward him half of the ham slice along with the bread. He only turned in silence to look up at her before focusing back into the fire. “I’ll eat later, Emmy. For now, you take some and get some rest.” Schofield’s voice held little emotion, as though he were speaking to a child and ordering her to bed. Anger erupted inside of her at Schofield’s sudden stoic attitude. She went over to Schofield’s side and placed the whole thing of ham and break in front of him. “No, Will!” Her voice rose in temperance. “Either we both eat at once or we don’t eat at all!” “Emmanuelle…” He said her full name, his tone of voice rising with hers, bearing that of a warning. “William, look at me when I’m talking to you!” She grabbed his uniform before he could react further and pulled the soldier to his feet, allowing him to tower over her. “What is it you want, Emmy?” He didn’t bother releasing her hands from gripping onto his collar, taken aback by her sudden bout of strength. “I want to know what this is between us. You saved me at the farmhouse. You’ve risked yourself protecting me when you have the lives of other men depending on you. Hell, you kissed me only half an hour ago! Who am I to you?” She asked him, moving her hands from his collar to hold his face. His eyes were cast toward the dirt floor, avoiding looking at her. As though he was ashamed of expressing himself to her… “Will.” Her voice was calm now, coaxing him to tell her the truth. “It’s just me here. There aren’t any officers you need to hide your emotions from or put on a show for. You can tell me anything that’s on your mind.” “Emmy…” He looked up down into her eyes, tears filling his own. “When I found you in that farmhouse, and you collapsed right in front of me…” He paused, as though trying to catch his breath at the memory. The lance corporal managed to continue, taking ahold of her hands within his own. The fire grew in the hearth, allowing light to pool into their peripheral vision. “When I caught you after you fainted… I just sat there for a moment and held you. Your face was… so pale, almost grey. I…I felt my heart break for you, being so lost and scared.” He blinked back the tears as she led him towards the crudely made bed. They both sat down, their hands interlocked. Emmy nodded her head, blinking back her own tears as she encouraged him to keep talking. “And then your eyes opened again soon after…and then you made me feel more alive than I’ve felt in years. I knew from the moment you were ordering everyone around when the convoy truck was stuck.” A smile perked upon his lips at the recent memory from earlier that day. “You knew what, Will?” Emmy asked him, already feeling like she knew the answer. “That I’d never forgive myself if I were to see you die as I saw Blake do the same…right in my arms.” He confessed, those damning tears of his finally free. At hearing those words, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Schofield buried his face into her shoulder, exhausted breaths overwhelming his need to scream. His large hands clutched at her back, as though she were a life preserver keeping him from sinking into the deep waters. “Are you in love with me, William?” Emmanuelle felt the need to outright ask him, holding the tired soldier in her small, safe embrace. He raised his head up to look into her weary, lovely face. “I knew it was true from when you sleeping against me in the truck.” He held one of her dainty hands in both of his, pressing them to his chest so she could feel his heartbeat vibrating with life. “It belongs to you, Emmanuelle Hunterson, as it always has and always shall.” “And yet, you’re willing to make sure I return to my own time, to my home?” Emmy asked. “Even if I may not be able to come back?” “Of course.” Schofield answered without hesitation. “I would rather your safety and happiness guaranteed away from here-“ His words were cut off before he could finish his declaration to her. Emmy’s arms were around his neck as she pulled him into a kiss, one not as chaste and brief as when Schofield had presented his affection back at the lock-house. True, they had only known each other for a day, but in the environment they were in, any form of contentment offered was needed. She had given him a genuine reason to get through this war… They pulled apart to take a breath, a blissful smile crossing Schofield’s face for the first time since Blake died. “You’re beautiful, Emmanuelle.” He whispered to her, his warm breath against her face as he held her close. “Being from this mysterious era of a century forward, you truly are a rare wonder amongst women.” “My Lance Corporal, my dashing man in uniform.” Emmy carefully pulled him down to hover over her on the bed pallet. Their noses and foreheads were touching, basking in their bubble of euphoria. “As you are a rarity among men, especially where I’m from.” Schofield sighed in relief, a gleeful sensation overcoming him at the resolution that she reciprocated his feelings for her. “Talk more to me, Will. Tell me how you feel as though we were courting like normal people, like there’s no war. Say anything that comes to your head.” She looked into his eyes, waiting for what heartfelt declaration he would give to her. Schofield gently pulled her back up into a sitting position, so that she was perched on his lap. He began to talk again, reciting a poem from his schoolboy days. “Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly; Their beauty shakes me who was once serene; Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen. Only your word will heal the injury To my hurt heart, while yet the wound is clean - Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly; Their beauty shakes me who was once serene.”* She could think of no responding words as she absorbed his mixture of prose and passion. She wove her fingers delicately through his hair, minding the bandages from his head wound. “Will, there’s something I do need to tell you about the future, about this war.” She whispered, feeling indebted to give him one kernel of hope. Not only to do with this war, but about what could be in store for them both in the future. His expression as he held her conveyed confusion and anticipation with what she had to say. “What, my love?” Schofield asked, pulling her even closer. One of Emmy’s legs hooked around his hip to make her more comfortable in his arms. “What do you know?” “When the war will be over.” She breathed, pressing her lips again to his in another era-defying kiss. He pulled back away from her, a fire suddenly alight in his vibrant eyes. Those words he had wanted to hear for so long since from forever ago… Then, their paradise was eviscerated with the distant sound of a church bell… Dawn was breaking upon them and time would cease to be merciful from that moment on… *AN: The poem is Rondel of Merciless Beauty courtesy of 14th century author Geoffrey Chaucer


	7. Time Is Running Out

Emmanuelle followed Schofield up the rickety wooden stairs that led back up to the burning civilization of Ecoust, his still bandaged hand grasping onto hers as though something from the shadows waited to snatch her away from him.  
Emmy had the bayonet that detached from his rifle tied to her waist by a crude ribbon sash from her dress. She could feel Schofield glancing back at her every few seconds to see if she could handle it without trouble.  
“Will, you don’t have to keep checking on me like a nervous mother.” Emmy chastised her Lance Corporal, knowing he meant well in a chivalrous way. “I’m from a different era where women can handle themselves without a man constantly at their side.”  
Schofield only stared at her face in response to her statement before giving a brisk nod in her direction. His eyes exposed his processing her words, but his stoic attitude would only drive her further into insanity.  
Emmy could tell he was somewhat offended by her slight refusal of his protective tendency toward her and the guilt washed over her like a tidal wave.  
She grabbed onto his uniform sleeve right as they reached the door, stopping the soldier in his tracks. Her hands grabbed onto his vest and she gently pushed him to lean on the closed door.  
Schofield placed the rifle at his side, placing his much larger hands upon her shoulders before moving them to cradle her neck, his thumbs skimming along her jaw-line.  
“Emmanuelle, hours ago you had almost drowned because I wasn’t careful enough getting across that damn canal.” He half-whispered to her, quietly seething with anxiety and irritation. “If you were to be harmed in any way, in my era or yours or any other place in time, I could never forgive myself; as a man nor as a soldier.”   
Emmy reached up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his in a gratifying kiss. Schofield reciprocated her act of affection with as much if not more unbridled passion beyond what words could express. The temptation to take her back to that room below and show her everything he was feeling…  
Their kiss broke apart as they caught their breaths, knowing they were only delaying the inevitable. They couldn’t stay in this rundown shack of a building forever.  
Schofield leaned down toward Emmy, pressing his forehead to hers, his good hand stroking her cheek with his fingertips. She had never felt more treasured than when this man was touching her. Her eyes closed in contentment; however misguided it was to feel something so strong for a man she had only known for such a short span of time.  
“Blake was right. You really are my knight in shining armor.” She chuckled, feeling Schofield’s lips pull into a smile against her mouth as he kissed her again. “My champion…”  
Schofield huffed out a choked breath, gulping to choke back a growl of arousal. “Emmanuelle, I’m no hero. I’m only trying to do what’s right.”   
The faint shouting in Germanic dialect caused them to pull away from each other, reminding the two of where they were and what was happening.   
Schofield grabbed up the rifle again, his free hand holding Emmy’s as she stood behind him. He turned to look at her, wanting to think of something to assure her that they would escape this nightmare of a labyrinth alive.  
Not being a man of many words, he could only express his feelings with his actions; lifting up her hand to his lips and kissing her fingers with all the reverence of a knight swearing loyalty to a queen.  
That action alone meant more to her than any proclamation he previously made to protect her, more so than the words they had said to each other in the basement.  
On the other side of that barrier was a hellish underworld above the earth where anything could kill them and they would need to rely on each other to make it out unscathed.  
Schofield opened the door with caution, looking to either side before walking through the threshold and leading Emmy outside into the smoke fumed air. She struggled not to inhale too much of the polluted atmosphere, but another approaching coughing fit prevented her to preserving her lungs.  
She covered her mouth, praying Schofield would be too occupied with surveying the area for resistance to hear her attempts to keep silent. His hand held hers tightly, keeping her still positioned behind him as a precaution.  
Emmanuelle managed to catch her breath for the time being, her lungs burning with a dull ache. Was the smoke inhalation getting to her?   
Was it her body telling her how exhausted she was and needed to have a long sleep and a decent meal?   
Goosebumps racked her body as she shivered despite the heat in the air surrounding her, sweating as though she were trapped in a baking oven.   
She looked above as the sky, relieved to see the dark blue of approaching dawn and the moon fading amongst the clouds.  
Schofield pulled her around a corner, causing her to almost trip as he froze in his gait. Stepping forward to see what may have spooked him, she saw another figure standing in the shadows. Amid the ruins of the building structure looming over them, there stood a young German soldier from what she could deduce from his uniform.  
Her lance corporal was still as a statue as they locked eyes. Emmanuelle was maneuvered behind Schofield to keep her out of the German’s line of sight.   
Another male voice, slurred from intoxication, sounded behind her as the source came stumbling from the other side of the ruined building, bending over to vomit presumably from too much alcohol consumption. Even from his drunken pronunciation, she couldn’t decipher a word of English.  
Panicking, Schofield rushed up to the young German soldier, pinning him to a wide column of the building and holding his hand under his mouth to keep him quiet. Emmanuelle was stuck where she stood, unsure of what to do as her hands grasped onto the bayonet at her side.  
Schofield still had the German pinned against the column, slowly removing his hand as he prayed for the younger man to keep silent.  
All that hope was in vain, however…  
“ENGLANDER!” The German soldier shouted to alert his inebriated comrade of their presence.  
A scream built in Emmy’s throat as she saw Schofield tackle the German to the ground. She could hear the other one call out for his friend, presumably saying his name along with other words she couldn’t understand.   
Both her valiant Lance Corporal and the German continued to fight for dominance on the ground, silhouetted so deep into the shadows that Emmanuelle couldn’t tell who was winning. One of them had their hands around the other’s throat in a chokehold.  
She untied the bayonet from her waist, prepared to use it to ensure Schofield’s well-being.   
“Baumer?” The drunken German came up behind Emmy, causing her to turn around in shock.   
Gripping tightly onto the daggered weapon, she didn’t have the sense to even consider if the man was sober enough to notice that his comrade was being wrestled to the death by a British soldier. Their scuffling continued in the background, groaning and struggling sounds of desperation roaring in her ears.  
Before he could lay a finger on her or even look into her eyes, she held up the bayonet with all her might and plunged it into his chest. A primal wail erupted from her tormented throat as she plummeted to the floor along with the fallen German drunk, blood leaking out of his fatal wound like water into a sieve.   
His eyes remained open, the life in them fading away and replaced with the dull fog of post-mortem.   
She had just killed a man…  
She had taken a human life…  
She had done it more for William Schofield than for herself… She needed him to stay alive.  
The stinging tears she had only just then noticed flooded down her face, her chest heaving with the sobs for everything endured in less than the twenty four hours she had been in the year 1917.  
Ignorant of the various fluids leaking over her skin, the sweat sticking her mussed hair to her forehead, snot down from her nose and the tears of salt washing away the gunpowder fingerprints leftover from Schofield’s caresses upon her cheeks, Emmanuelle knew she would never be the same after this day.  
She was no longer the innocent American tourist girl buying a book from the Imperial War Museum gift shop, taking advantage of a final night in London.  
She was a survivor and a woman fighting to protect what she loved and to gain the knowledge of where her home was.  
Emmanuelle knelt on her knees, her shaking hands still grasping onto the bayonet stuck inside the German’s chest.   
A pair of hands grasped onto elbows, quickly pulling her away from the corpse as gunshots fired around her.   
“Emmy, we have to go! Get up!” Schofield yelled as his voice reverberated into a buzzing noise and her brain wanted to shut down. She was numb, being pulled to her feet and made to follow the Lance Corporal.   
His hand was a vice around hers; the girl’s fingers not even feeling enough to grasp his in response. She felt unworthy of his protection, of even a passing thought in his mind, let alone his love.   
The bullets continued to shatter the morning air around them, yanking Emmanuelle out of her guilt. Her instinct to avoid danger activated as though to discipline her for being so self-pitying.   
She was in the middle of a war, how was she to escape without blood on her hands, whether it was to be figurative or literal?  
The shoes on feet began to slip off much to her dismay from the running. Schofield pulled her around so many corners and dead ends, trying to get out of this maze.  
Finally, a clear path blessed their sight leading to the outskirts of Ecoust. The sound of a roaring river graced her ears right before a burning pain assaulted her leg. Something hard and fast grazed her lower calf.  
Emmanuelle fell to the hard ground, catching herself with the hand that wasn’t holding Schofield’s. He had to get away from here…  
“Will!” She screamed, hearing the voices of more Germans in the distance. Schofield managed to keep her from completely landing on the ground, supporting her with his arms. “Don’t bother with me! Keep going!”  
He ignored her pleas as he hastily picked her up into his arms, knowing that it’d only slow him down if she had to struggle on one leg.   
Schofield continued to run, getting closer to the river that led out of this haunted mausoleum of a village. Only while being held close by him did Emmy notice that his rifle was missing; left behind most likely at the site where those two Germans lay forgotten in their tomb of a hideaway.   
The river was below them and Schofield braced himself to jump. Emmanuelle placed a kiss upon the bare skin of his neck, just in the event that one of them didn’t make it. She could feel the blood trickling down from her leg already…  
“Emmy, take a deep breath.” He ordered her, no space for questioning in his tone. They locked eyes, Schofield gripping tightly onto her as though she were more precious than any commemoration or medal awarded by the British Army.   
She inhaled a deep breath, hiding her face to bury into his uniform collar. Her teeth bit onto it to hold back her scream as he jumped off the precipice.   
The water burned through her nose and mouth as they both submerged into the river’s depths. Despite the increasing pain in her leg, Emmy kicked and swam with all her might to keep her head above the wild rapids.   
“Emmy!” Schofield choked out, his hand reaching for hers before grabbing her arm and pulling her close to his chest. “I’ve got you!”  
She coughed out water, her head nearly slumping onto his shoulder as she fought the urge to pass out. Was she losing that much blood so quickly or was she just exhausted?  
Schofield gripped her with one arm, tightening his hold around her as he noticed her arms around his neck and shoulders beginning to slacken.   
His own energy was decreasing from the day’s events, but he kept on swimming, one arm keeping them both above the surface.   
After several close calls with protruding rocks and sharp tree branches that cost him the supply pack lost, Schofield heard the unavoidable waterfall.   
Emmanuelle stirred from her semi-conscious state against his shoulder at the sound of bubbling danger awaiting them.  
They went over the edge, Emmy closing her eyes and allowing her body to fall from Schofield’s grasp. Her soldier hit the bottom, disappearing below the surface as she fell into the next level of the river. She sank a few feet below the surface herself before swimming back up, her leg throbbing in protest from the bullet graze.  
Not feeling as though she could hold herself above the surface without support for much longer, she looked around for anything sturdy enough to hold her up. She wanted to rest so badly…  
A blessed tree log floated nearby. She swam to it and grasped onto one of the branches, bracing her upper body onto the trunk.  
Emmy looked around desperately as she wiped the water from her eyes, searching for Schofield.   
“William!” She yelled his full name, fear gripping her heart with its cruel iron grasp. “Will, you better be alive, damn you!”  
He burst through the surface only a few feet away from her. She wanted to cry with relief at the sight of him swimming toward her, gasping for breath as he grabbed onto the log from the other side where she was positioned.  
His vibrant blue eyes were dull with exhaustion, his hands barely able to grasp fully onto the log where he wouldn’t sink.   
Schofield floated on his back, his arm curling around the log as his body still submerged beneath the surface. His head was barely above enough to where his mouth and nose could permit him to breathe.   
“William!” Emmy gasped out, swimming along the gentle current toward her protector. He didn’t acknowledge her, his breathing barely stabilizing as he began to sink beneath the surface, his arm going slack around the floating log. He was passing out and about to drown. “Will!”  
She screamed for him, swimming to her lance corporal to keep him above water. One of her hands clutched onto his uniform, pulling his head back up so he could gain oxygen back into his lungs.  
His skin had gone pale and his eyes remained closed much to Emmanuelle’s horror. She had to get them to shore before they both ended up dying from sheer exhaustion and exposure to the elements.  
Despite his heavier weight combined with his soaked uniform weighing him down, Emmy slung one of his arms around her slight shoulders and began toward the nearest sight of dry land.   
She didn’t care how illogical it seemed. This was the man she loved and wasn’t about to let him die for her…  
.  
.  
.  
Lance Corporal William Christopher Schofield wasn’t sure if he still lived or not. The last thing he remembered was floating in water, he still felt like he was floating somehow, but someone was pulling him along.  
“Scho, wake up! You can’t go yet!” That voice, one he thought he’d never hear again, rang out to him, desperate and urgent.  
“Blake?” He whispered, taken aback by the weakness in his own voice. “What’s happening?”  
“She needs you, mate. And you swore you’d find my brother!” Thomas Blake stood in front of Schofield, the stab wound gone from his abdomen, his youthful face weary and tired.   
Schofield couldn’t absorb the fact that he was seeing his late comrade for the first time in what felt like a millennium, but was really less than a whole day ago.  
“Am I dying, Blake?” The older Lance Corporal asked.  
“That’s up to you, Scho.” Blake shrugged his shoulders, avoiding eye contact. “If you really love Emmy, you’ll open your eyes and start breathing again.”  
“How dare you…” Schofield became defensive, but stopped himself.  
“Remember after the mine shaft almost fell on us, you asked why I chose you to come with me.” Blake crossed his arms and stared in a matter-of-fact way at his companion. “You said yourself, God placed Emmy in your path. You never would’ve found her if I didn’t pick you for this mission.”  
“YES, I LOVE HER!” Schofield shouted at the top of his lungs. “I LOVE HER WITH EVERY BEAT OF MY HEART AND EACH STEP I’VE WALKED ON THIS MISSION!”  
“Then wake the hell up, Scho!” Blake argued back. “Or you may as well let her die, too!”  
Everything disappeared in a white flash of light before Schofield’s eyes as he felt a pumping pressure on his chest and air blown into his lungs.  
A sweet voice, feminine and crying with loneliness called out for him…  
She needed him and he needed her, they would endure and survive together as one.   
Tears that weren’t his own splashed upon his face, ends of long, loose hair tickling his skin…  
Emmanuelle Julia Hunterson was the name of this siren calling him back to life from purgatory, forsaking any unearthly beauty the gates of Heaven may have had to offer him…  
.  
.  
William Schofield’s eyes opened and the fire in his soul re-ignited.  
He had a promise to keep and a debt to repay…


	8. Shallow

Emmanuelle swam closer to shore, her limbs aching with the effort to keep both herself and Schofield’s limp form above water.   
His arm slung across her shoulders, his weight against her smaller body threatening to pull both of them beneath the river’s surface.  
She spat out water from her mouth, the rotten taste on her tongue causing her to gag.   
One of her arms was occupied with holding up her Lance Corporal above the water, the other used to keep her swimming.   
Her vision was blurred with the sting of blinking the river’s remnants out of her eyes. Emmy’s free hand reached forward, desperate to grab out for maybe a tree branch or a rock. All her fingers touched were the cold stream surface at first, then something else.  
Clothing, then something solid similar to another person’s arm…  
By instinct to keep afloat, she grabbed onto it, blinking away the rest of the water from her eyes. Her vision finally cleared up enough to where she could see what she had latched onto.  
The bloated remains of a human arm, floating in the water…  
Choking on a startled scream, the stench of rotting corpses caused the bile to rise in her throat. The tears of disgust and bone-shattering exhaustion flowed down her face as another body bumped into her side. She pushed it back with a wail of reaching her mental limitations, forcing her body to move forward through the water closer to the blessed shore.  
Schofield groaned into her arm, possibly beginning to regain consciousness.   
Emmy’s feet was able to touch the mostly smooth rocks at the bottom of the river, allowing her to grab ahold of her gallant soldier, her hands holding him underneath his arms and dragging him with all the energy sustained within her to the riverbank.   
A wave of dizziness overwhelmed her sense of balance. The bullet grazing on her leg… Now that she was out of the water, the blood continued to flow down from her calf and stick to the bottom of her foot and she bled still…   
She collapsed backward onto the grass, landing on her back with her last ounce of physical strength to heave Schofield fully onto dry land with her. She managed to maneuver his head and shoulders into her lap, knowing he deserved a more comfortable area to wake up in than a bank shore where dead corpses floated only meters away from them.  
Emmanuelle leaned herself against a tree, battling the urge to black out. She was losing blood and they had no supplies left…  
Schofield stirred, his regal face seeming so peaceful to Emmy it made her want to cry, seeing him so tired. Ignoring the flare of agony in her leg, the she bent down and placed a feather-light kiss upon his lips, giving him a signal to awaken faster for her.  
“William, please wake up. Please!” She placed one hand on his pallid cheek and the other on his soaking wet scalp, her fingers stroking his hair. She was dismayed to see his head bandages had washed away in the river. “It’s morning! You need to find the Devons. And Tom’s brother!”  
Her tears splattered on his face and the sobs racked her small body. She felt prepared to implode with all the turmoil raging in her subconscious…  
Then, in a God-given reversing of one of her childhood fairytale stories, her prince was being revived in the aftermath of her kiss…  
Schofield’s vivid blue eyes opened, coughing as he turned to the side to spit out water onto the grass.   
“Em…Emmanuelle.” His croaked whisper of a voice graced her ears much to her immense relief. His head landed back down onto her lap, mindful of the tender area at the back of his skull. “Are…are you alright?”  
“Will!” She cried out despite herself. His hand reached up to cradle her face, as though to assure himself that she was real. The rough skin of his palm was as soothing as any balm or lotion that had been used to relieve her hands back in the future.  
How her heart ached for home… But was she even sure anymore where her home was?  
Emmy gently removed his hand from her cheek, grasping onto it tightly with her fingers in a reflex responding to the pain in her leg.   
“Will, you need to go. You need to get to the Devons, the message…” Her voice trailed off and whatever words she tried to say came out in a slurred pattern. “…love you. Leave me…”  
Black spots clouded her vision and everything around her vanished into merciful darkness.  
“Emmy!” Schofield sat up in spite of his drenched state and exhausted body. His hands grasped onto the young woman’s shoulders as her eyes fluttered closed and her upper body slumped against the tree. “Emmanuelle, what is it?”  
She failed to respond and her face began losing the color of blush in her cheeks. His hands patted down her body, checking for any possible wounds.   
Then, he remembered the bullets flying at them less than half an hour ago… And she had fallen to the ground.  
He looked down and saw her leg coated in blood from underneath her kneecap to the sole of her exposed foot.   
His breath hitched as he took in her unconscious state, unmoving and becoming ever paler by the minute…   
Knowing he had to take advantage of this sudden regained amount of energy he possessed left, he slid his arms beneath the injured girl and lifted her up. Schofield’s heart sank as she wilted against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as he did his best to make certain she was settled securely in his arms.   
Her dress was in such a miserable, tattered status that he was able to see the bright pink fabric of an even smaller nightgown hiding under it. Possibly what she had been wearing when he had found her back at the farmhouse…  
The farmhouse…  
That was where he had last held somebody as they were bleeding out…  
Blake…  
With his legs wobbling slightly at the traumatic memory, he made his way up the grassy hill, taking a deep breath to straighten himself up. The most cherished thing to enter Schofield’s life was potentially dying because he failed to keep his vow to her…  
She exhaled shallow puffs of breath against his neck as he glanced to the side at her lifeless face. Dark circles and bags of sleep deprivation inhabited under her eyes and her skin was nearly grey… The bruises on her throat were a vibrant dark purple, imprinted from the fingertips of that bastard German pilot…  
Schofield definitely didn’t regret shooting him in hindsight…   
He held back the tears of anger, holding back a sob of guilt as he pressed lips to her feverish forehead. It was all he could do in the moment to give her some gesture of comfort. What he would have given to go back to that decrepit basement just hours from before, just to be lying with her in their temporary shelter.   
Had she any idea how much he loved her?   
As a soldier, he really had no way to truly express it. All he could do was continue walking. Find help for her; she needed medical attention.   
In spite of this sudden surge of energy, every step taken up the hill felt as though each foot weighed a hundred pounds. As though all the blood in his body rushed down from his head to the soles of his feet…  
The toe of his boot caught on an upturned rock jutting from the ground and the Lance Corporal fell to his knees with a guttural howl of frustration.   
Emmy’s head slid off his shoulder and hanged limp over his arm as he sunk down onto the dirt, his arms still keeping a tight grasp on her. Panting out in huffed breaths, Schofield felt the scorching tears trail down his cheeks as all the rage and tiredness poured out of him from the last twenty-four hours.   
He looked in alarm upon the motionless girl, her struggling ragged breaths the only signals of life presented to him, her bosom just barely rising up and down with the motions of her lungs.  
“Emmy, hold on.” His trembling hand tenderly held her head to where she was cushioned against his uniformed pectoral. “Stay strong… stay with me, my love.” He could barely form the words, his weeping over her breaking his normally reformed pattern of speech.   
She failed to respond to his begging pleas, only breathing in and out with shallow wheezes. Her eyes still remained closed much to his dismay; Schofield only once had to look into those gorgeous green irises of hers to feel one kernel of inspiration…  
He prayed to God with all the resolve and humility he had, cradling this young woman who was the embodiment of everything precious to him in his arms. He looked upward into the dawning sky, shutting his eyes and hoping for some form of salvation to complete his mission.  
Lord, if you truly are virtuous, please don’t let Emmanuelle Hunterson of this mysterious future perish. Show her mercy, and allow me this penance. If I couldn’t save Thomas Blake, please let me save her. Spare those sixteen hundred souls about to walk into a trap. Please, just give me a sign that I can make things right…   
All the noises of the forest surrounding him suddenly ceased buzzing in his ears. No birds or bugs chirped their morning calls.  
One sole sound floated in his ears, faint and soft, but impactful enough to push him back onto his feet.   
Somebody singing, a biblical hymn floating on the breeze…  
Schofield stood up again, re-adjusting Emmanuelle in his arms to carry her to the source of that voice… Other people around meant help and possible rescue…  
The sound became clearer and he absorbed the poignancy of the words being sung.   
I’m only going over Jordan, I’m only going over home…  
The drained Lance Corporal stumbled around the thin trees of the forest, weaving in between them carefully to make sure Emmy’s bare feet didn’t scrape against the bark-roughened trunks. Schofield stopped as his knees buckled, sinking back down onto the earthy ground.   
In front of him was an entire company of British soldiers, if he was correct from his blurred vision. He wasn’t even certain if these men were alive or dead. Not one of them turned to look in his direction, every one of them focused on the man’s voice signing to them this ballad of fare-thee-well.   
Not one of them indicating they had heard him walking or see the unconscious woman in his arms.  
Schofield was leaning on a tree, just behind the ensemble of uniformed men, their backs turned to him.   
He closed his eyes, focusing on the singer concluding the hymn, his frozen fingers twitching as Emmanuelle stirred her head against his him, her hand reaching up clasp onto his uniform collar.   
“Will.” Her voice rasped out, as though she were saying his name in a delirious state of dreaming. Her face nuzzled into his neck and Schofield felt her skin definitely warmer than normal. She was burning up with fever and a shiver racked her entire body.   
“D Company, move out!” The voice strict authority voiced by a nearby captain called out for all the men to stand and clear the area.  
Schofield blankly looked up at the motion of people around him, almost not even registering that he was even being spoken to.  
“You alright, pal?” A group of privates gathered around him. “Where are you from?”   
Schofield’s arms clutched Emmanuelle tightly to him by mere instinct. He wanted to speak but couldn’t find his voice.  
“Who’s the girl?” Another private asked, referring to Emmy. “Look at ‘em, they’re both bloody soaked.”  
“He’s not one of ours.” The first private spoke up. “The girl’s as white as a ghost.”  
“Bugger it, let’s just pick ‘em up and take ‘em with us.” The second man suggested.  
Schofield’s dry mouth opened and his voice emerged in such a weak tone they could hardly hear him. “Help her. She’s hurt, she needs a doctor.”  
“I’ll pick ‘er up and take her to the casualty station.” The first private who spoke to Schofield gestured to the ashen-complexioned girl in the Lance Corporal’s arms. Bending down toward her, he noticed how she was bleeding from her leg. “The battlefield is no place for a lady.”  
“You’ll be safe, Emmy. They’re gonna get you help.” Schofield murmured to her as the private carefully gathered her up from his lap. His hand held onto hers until she was out of his reach, being carried away by the private and completely limp as though she were a rag doll. “I’ll come find you, I swear. I love you…”  
Schofield was only then looked up at the small group of privates around him, his head falling back against the tree trunk.   
“The Devons… I have to find the Devons…” He managed to gasp out as though each word he said took the breath out of his lungs.  
“We are the Devons, mate.” The second private informed him. “You wanna tell us what you’re doin’ here, and who that girl is?”  
A spark of light flashed in Schofield’s eyes as he looked up into each soldier’s face as they kneeled down to his level. “You’re the Devons?”  
“Yes, Corp.” The kind private told him, a concerned frown on his face.  
“Why haven’t you gone over?” Schofield asked, his eyes looking up at the troupe of soldiers filing out of the wooded glen.  
“We’re the second wave. They don’t send us all out at once.” The private told the shaken corporal. “We’re D Company. We spent all last night digging in.”  
Forcing his legs to stand him up through sheer will, Schofield staggered to his feet, reaching inside his uniform tunic to make certain his blue tobacco tin was secure inside.   
“Where…where’s Colonel Mackenzie?” Schofield caught his balance on the tree before gaining back his equilibrium enough to stand on his own.   
“He’s down at the line.” The private and the rest of his group walked with Schofield as he increased his pace. “We’re headed up there now.”  
Schofield sprinted forward past the group of privates, pushing his way ahead everyone he could reach. Groans and shouts of protests roared in his ringing ears, but he could not have cared any less about their reactions. As long as the message was received and obeyed…  
The white chalk structure of the trench pierced his sight that nearly brought along for him a migraine along with the exhaustion, but he pushed further into the building chaos.  
He asked after every authority figure, captains and sergeants not with-standing, where the Colonel was. He was pointed further into the trench line, like and worker ant trapped in the assembly line of colony insects below the earth.   
The ground shook beneath him and knocked him off balance more than once, fiercer than the mightiest earthquake. The explosions around him blared away in his eardrums despite the intended shelter of the trench… He was only brought down further when he was passed down the line in the authority figures answering him where to locate Mackenzie.   
The German shells skyrocketing into the once tranquil French countryside only served as a consistency of this godforsaken war for Schofield. Fighting over this damned land…  
At last, he went down the chalk path and encountered another commanding officer who could assist him. He was a lieutenant, revolver in hand to keep a signal for when his men needed to charge over the top.  
Schofield grabbed at the C.O. by the shoulders, desperation transforming into near madness. “Sir, I have orders to stop this attack! Where’s Colonel Mackenzie?!”  
An explosion cracked through the edge of the trench, sending chalk particles and sharp-edged rocks into the air. Schofield ducked away, briefly guarding his head with his arm.  
“He’s further up the line.” The lieutenant answered him, pointing behind toward the trail of chalk behind him.   
Even more men blocking the Lance Corporal’s way and delaying him…  
“How far?!” Schofield shouted the question, his throat in pain from both lack of speaking and hydration.  
“Three hundred yards; he’s in a cut and cover!” The lieutenant yelled back, wishing he could do more the help this frantic young man. “You’ll have to wait until the first wave goes over!”  
“No! No, I can’t!” Schofield was beyond desperate now, past reasonable thinking at this point.   
More shells shattered the trench, nearly knocking the Lance Corporal off his feet. He looked past the C.O. and saw no way to get past while inside the chalk barriers. His veins froze with fear and the knowledge that after everything endured, he would fail all of these men…  
He would fail Thomas Blake…  
And Emmanuelle… she pulled him from the river and rescued his worthless hide only so he could prove himself to be unworthy of her love…  
“Seven platoon, thirty seconds!” The lieutenant’s shouting behind Schofield spurned the young soldier back from his self-loathing thoughts as though an electric current sent a shock-wave through his vertebrae.  
No…none of this hellfire will be for nothing.  
Schofield looked up to the firing wall and positioned himself up to climb, feeling the C.O’s eyes burning into the back of his head.   
The younger soldier stared straight ahead on his hands and knees into the vacant greenery of No Man’s Land. It may have been just irrational enough to succeed if he lived to tell the tale…  
Only 300 yards…  
A storybook hero, he certainly was not by any stretch of the imagination, but he could still do what was necessary for the right thing. To save all these men and be certain his beloved sheltered away in the hopeful safety of the casualty station would live to see her “modern” life in the 21st century…  
“What the hell are you doing, Lance Corporal?” The lieutenant interrogated Schofield, who only turned to look at the C.O. without a verbal response. The manic shine in his eyes conveyed everything the lieutenant was powerless to prevent him from doing.  
Schofield inhaled a breath and climbed over the wall, not even looking back at the C.O. crying out for him to stop…  
.  
.  
Emmanuelle Hunterson opened her eyes, but she was nowhere near oriented enough to know where she was.   
All she could see were blurred shapes, her fever only increasing her delusion in between reality and a dream. A distant explosion rumbled the makeshift bed that held her up. The thin woolen blanket covering her only served to heat up her sweltering body…  
The medics became frankly unconcerned with the strange young woman as more wounded soldiers came through the queue. Only her leg was bandaged, but the resulting fever and coughing still remained to leave her helpless…  
She called out random names, her face reddened with tears. Nobody took notice of her cries, as though she were abandoned in a corner of invisibility.   
She cried out for a William Schofield, a name none of the soldiers around her recognized.   
None of them came to her bedside to seek for her well-being…   
Until she called out for a Blake in her delirium… Lance Corporal Thomas Blake…  
She reached out for any kind of lifeline to rescue her from this sickness, any kind of human contact to assure her that she wasn’t alone.  
A gentle hand, much larger than hers, held her fingers. She could sense someone at her bedside, a gaze of intensity aimed right at her. A voice called for her to speak to him while stroking her hand.  
“Someone get me some water and a damp rag! Help this girl, for God’s sake!” The anonymous figure at Emmy’s bedside commanded, a voice she didn’t recognize, but the accent she had heard before. “Miss, what was that name you said? Tom Blake?”  
Lt. Joseph Blake sat guard at Emmanuelle’s side, ever vigilant as he awaited further answers from this Lance Corporal Schofield she continued to call out for along with his kid brother’s name…


	9. Compass

“Let me through!” Schofield struggled to shout amidst the hellish chaos around him. “Let me through!”  
Two orderlies standing guard at the Colonel’s cut-and-cover were restraining him by the arms, preventing the Lance Corporal from entering.  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” One of them demanded, holding him back against the wall of heavily weighted sandbags that constructed the makeshift shelter.   
“I have to get through! I have to see Colonel Mackenzie!” Schofield clutched the crumpled letter in his fist, praying the penmanship of the General was still legible after being in the river. “I have to stop this attack!”  
He could hear other voices inside the dugout ante-room, giving Schofield the drive to push back against the two guards, but to no further avail. He could feel whatever strength left inside of him fading…  
Another captain swept past where Schofield was being held and inside the shelter. “Colonel, we’ve seen flares. The men on the left flank have made it to the German line.”  
“Colonel!” Schofield screamed at the top of his voice. His throat burned as a result of his efforts to be heard above the exploding noise.  
The orderlies hauled him away from the dugout and up against the trench wall only a few feet away.  
“Listen to me! I have a letter!” Schofield faced the two guards struggling to hold him down. “I need to see Colonel Mackenzie!”   
He looked for any sign of understanding on either of the men’s hard stares on him, but found nothing of the sort.   
“There’s no bloody way you’re getting in there, mate!” Both of them continued to hold onto Schofield as the captain that had entered the dugout a couple moments before, his deep voice bellowing out the orders.  
“Sergeant, send in the next wave!”   
“NO!” The Lance Corporal managed to strike on the orderlies in the stomach with his elbow and free himself from their grasps. He stumbled forward and entered the dugout, panting with breath to find the energy to speak again.  
A group of men were huddled together around a table, possibly looking at a battlefield map. One of their voices stood out from the others, imposing and undeniable to a near fault.  
“Tell Ivins and Murphy to direct their men to the left flank. Concentrate everything there.” Mackenzie continued to direct accordingly when the younger soldier alerted them to his presence.  
“Colonel Mackenzie!” The men around Mackenzie turned in the lance corporal’s direction, stunned into absorbing silence. “This attack is not to go ahead! You’ve been ordered to stop!”  
“Who the hell are you?” Mackenzie stared Schofield straight in the eye, taking in the more youthful man’s frenzied appearance and his frantic yet weathered facial expression.  
“Lance Corporal Schofield, sir. 8th.” He saluted as was the custom for one of his rank acknowledging a superior officer. “I have orders from General Erinmore to call off this attack!”  
In his shaking hand, Schofield held out the wrinkled and dampened letter, hoping against all better judgment the Colonel would oblige and at least take it. None of the men stepped forward, standing in place.  
“You’re too late, Lance Corporal.” Mackenzie began to turn away from Schofield and toward the table he had been leaning over.  
“Sir, these orders are from Army Command! You have to read them.” Schofield was out of breath, his lungs aflame with over-exertion of his body.  
His trembling hand, the sensation now extending to his arm to the point of aching, continued to grasp onto the letter.   
“Sir, shall we hold back the second wave?” A major standing next to the colonel asked, his conscience tempting him to hear the lance corporal out.  
“No, Major.” Mackenzie ordered without a pause of consideration. “Hesitate now and we lose. Victory is only five hundred yards away.”  
Schofield was nearly beyond military mandated decorum at this point. He had to break through to this superior officer whilst more men were dying outside with each passing second.  
“Sir, please!” The lance corporal was begging now. “Read the letter.”  
“I have heard it all before.” Mackenzie was fully facing him; his blazing eyes alight in a way that brought the words from the captain back at the convoy truck from a millenium ago.   
Make sure there are witnesses. Some men just want the fight.  
“I’m not going to wait until dusk, or for fog. I’m not calling back my men, only to send them out there again tomorrow. Not when we’ve got the bastards on the run. This is their last stand.”  
“The German’s planned this, Sir. They’ve been planning it for months.” His dignity be damned, Schofield needed to make him understand. “They want you to attack. Read the letter.”  
The entire group of men froze, all of their eyes locking onto the younger man like a sniper to a target.  
After a beat and another distant explosion rumbling through the ground underneath them, Mackenzie gestured to the Major who had spoke up and the letter was taken from Schofield’s hand.  
The colonel snatched it away into his own hand, nearly shredding the paper in half. His steely eyes of teal never left those of the annoyingly persistent Lance Corporal. Until he read the words inked on the parchment…  
Schofield struggled to stay upright on his feet, catching his breath as he awaited the colonel’s decision. Just the one word from him would either turn today for the worse or the better.  
Mackenzie folded the paper in half, having finished reading it. Schofield’s heart skipped a beat, feeling the anxiety wash over him like an ocean wave.  
“Major.” The Colonel directed to the other man standing alongside him.  
“Yes, sir.” He responded, anxious for what would be commanded of him, feeling a swell of pity for the shaken young man who seemed as though he had endured Hell and came back.  
“Stand them down.” Mackenzie again locked eyes with Schofield, sending him a glare of stoic rigidness before turning back to the table to remove his helmet.   
Schofield felt the weight of everything at last leave his shoulders. He felt lightheaded and battled the urge to fall to his knees on gratitude. Perhaps God was on his side after all…  
He heard the faint shouting of the other men that had crowded around Mackenzie as they rushed outside, blowing their whistles and ordering a ceasefire. He was alone in the shelter with the Colonel, having nothing else to say now that it was done.  
“I hoped today might be a good day.” Mackenzie rubbed his hand through his hair, as though his scalp was irritated from wearing his helmet for hours upon end. His voice, however gruff and strict, was softer as he spoke to Schofield. “Hope is a dangerous thing.”  
The Lance Corporal kept his eyes to the floor, downcast and his head bowed as though in a silent prayer. Mackenzie continued to address him, his tone more matter-of-fact.  
“That’s it for now; then next week Command will send a different message.” The Colonel spoke as though he could hear the exact words of alternate orders in the exact same situation. “Attack at dawn…”  
Schofield lifted his head and looked at Mackenzie, finding absolution in his own silence.  
“There’s only one way this war ends. Last man standing.” The Colonel had a prophetic feeling about this young man who stood staring him down, a sense of pride he rarely felt toward any of his battalion since the war started.   
He could clearly see the Lance Corporal was wasting minutes in the shelter and he needed to snap him back into reality and send him on his way. Certainly, he didn’t expect any reward for this task.  
“Now fuck off, Lance Corporal.” No rhymes or reasons about it, Schofield was dismissed.  
The younger soldier slowly turned away and went to the main door of the dugout.   
Right outside the entry way stood the Major who given out the call to cease and desist. He patted Schofield on the shoulder in genuine thanks. The lance corporal was barely able to look him in the eye.  
“Well done, lad.” The major hoped he was giving the exhausted boy some kind of reassurance that he had succeeded.  
“Thank you, sir.” Schofield was grateful, however lifeless his voice may have implied otherwise. “Do you know where Lieutenant Blake is, sir?”  
“Blake?” The major responded, wondering why this young man was asking after someone in this camp in particular.  
“There were two of us. I was sent here with his brother.” Schofield’s stomach twisted into a knot, mentioning Thomas Blake out loud for the first time since…  
He immediately retracted that memory to the back of his mind, hoping the Major had not noticed.  
“Well, knowing Lieutenant Blake, he would’ve gone over with his men. He was in the first wave.” The major had an understanding look upon his face much to Schofield’s relief.  
“How could I find him, sir?” The Lance Corporal asked, not even knowing if he had the strength to walk anymore for the remainder of the day. How badly he needed to sleep…  
“You can try the casualty clearing station, behind the line.” The superior officer informed him, his vocal tone one of subtle sympathy.  
That location in the major’s answering him sparked a different flame within Schofield’s veins. Where he would find his resolve and possibly even the slightest sliver of redemption.  
As concerned as he was to find Lt. Joseph Blake, another name mattered in equal amount. Someone else he had promised to save… and she had been literally taken away from his arms, in and out of consciousness with fever.  
Somewhere here just beyond his reach, she was lying ill and vulnerable…  
Emmanuelle…  
.  
.  
Joseph Blake was ever attentive at the bedside of this anonymous girl, not even knowing himself why he was bothering to care. Other than the fact that she knew his brother’s name…  
Soothingly sliding his hand underneath her head to lift it up from her sweat-soaked pillow, he held a metal spoon of water to her dry, cracked lips.   
She drank every drop of it much to his relief, her eyes remaining closed as he laid her head back down as gently as possible to assure no crick resulted in her neck. A gagging cough erupted from her mouth, some spittle dribbling from the corner of her bottom lip to her chin.  
“Blake…Tom…” She murmured in her delirium. “Schofield…”   
The lieutenant wiped away the stray saliva from her face with a clean cloth, a strange flow of compassion melting away his more hardened qualities for the time being. From the medical training he’d had prior to the war’s beginning, he deduced that she was definitely displaying symptoms of pneumonia.   
Joseph was torn between going to his commanding officer to see about transporting this girl to a hospital and waiting to see if she would awaken soon enough to give him more information.  
At least her name and how she knew the name of his brother Tom…  
Her head tossed to one side on the pillow. Joseph held the tips of his fingers to her forehead, feeling for her temperature to be decreasing with fever. Even without knowing her name, he could definitely tell she had a strength about her that he found quite admirable.  
“Who are you, lass? Just tell me if you know about my brother…” He readjusted himself in the crude outdoor chair and continued his vigil at her bed, trying to ignore the shaking of his hands as one of them grasped onto hers.   
He closed his eyes and prayed to whoever was above listening for his fallen men and tried to drown out the sounds of the dying amongst the peaceful landscape of Flander’s fields.  
.  
.  
.  
“Tom, I don’t want to die. I was only trying to save Will.” Emmy felt as though she were on fire, every inch of her skin aflame.   
In spite of the pain, the safety of Corporal Blake’s arms wrapped around her made it feel as though a douse of cooling water was poured upon her body, soaking her from head to toe.  
“You’re gonna be alright.” Tom hugged her close, embracing her with a brotherly assurance that he would not allow this sickness to take her away from those who loved her.  
Scho would be beyond consolation if she were to be lost after everything they had endured. Blake had seen the state they were both in after they escaped the river.  
The devastating sight of his comrade straining to carry the ailing girl up the hill was enough to even melt the coldest of any battle-hungry officer’s heart.  
“How do you know?” She asked him, pulling away to look into his blue eyes while still remaining in his arms.  
“Because God put you in our path so we could find you. When we were assigned the mission to deliver that message, they told me to pick a partner to accompany me. Schofield just happened to be next to me and the decision was made.” Tom stroked away a stray piece of hair off her forehead.  
“Will loves me…somehow I don’t understand why. We’ve only known each other for barely a full day. But, I love him too after everything he’s risked for me.” The hot tears flowed down her face, her cheeks reddening.  
Tom wiped them away from her face, giving her a soft smile. Looking at her like she was the most beautiful, pure thing to have walked this scorched earth.  
His lips pressed to her forehead, and then something round and metallic was placed in her hands as he pulled away from her arms’ reach.  
His compass…  
“Find your way. The choice is yours in which direction you take.” His soft voice instructed as he disappeared from her sight.  
The gold, metal arrow spun and pointed north. Everything vanished around her in a white flash and she broke through the surface of consciousness.  
.  
.  
Her eyes opened and her breathing evened out more. Emmy’s head pounded as she tried to focus on everything around her.  
Moans and yelling in the distance were faint in her ears and the raw stench of burnt flesh made her stomach coil with the urge to vomit.   
From what she could decipher, she was in some variety of outdoor medical tent. How did she get here?  
The last thing she remembered was being in Schofield’s arms and he had sunk onto the ground in the forest. There was some sort of hymn being sung in her head…  
Schofield begging for someone to help her…  
Then, someone else lifting her up from the security of her Lance Corporal’s embrace as he held onto her hand for those few precious seconds before she was carried away by a stranger, promising he’d come find her…  
I love you…  
He had finally said those words aloud to her. And she believed them with all her soul…  
“William!” Her voice was a croaky squeak as she struggled to talk. Her arms attempted to prop her to sit up on the unfamiliar bed she had been placed on.  
“Hold on, steady now.” A male voice, not Will’s much to her utter disappointment.   
She turned to look at the man who was daring to order her to lie still, but the fast motion of her neck causing a wave of dizziness to assault her sense of balance.  
Joseph tenderly placed a firm hand on her shoulder, to slowly push her back to lie down. He was especially careful to not touch any skin, just the remaining tatters of her dress sleeves.  
“Miss, you need to take it easy. You’ve got yourself a high fever.” The lieutenant attempted to dissuade her from making herself worse faster.   
Emmanuelle looked up at the mysterious visitor at her bedside, choice words coming to her recovering mind to demand why he was there and not her Lance Corporal.  
“Please, I don’t know where I am. Who…who are you?” Something in the back of her mind told not to be frightened. Even though he was now standing over her bed, like a noble specter of principles watching over her as she slept, she saw the same eyes she had just seen in her dreams.  
Blake’s eyes. His brother…  
She said his name aloud at the simultaneous instant another voice joined with her.  
“Lieutenant Blake.”   
She looked in the direction of the other voice that harmonized alongside hers. Her heart leapt in relief at the sound.  
“Will!” She found the energy to throw the rough fabric of the blanket off of her and place her bare feet onto the cool grass.  
There stood her hero, pale and worn-out, but alive. Despite the shaking of her legs while standing from the bed, she was in his arms again before she even risk falling.  
Schofield immediately felt at peace when her arms were flung around his neck. His own arms clutched around her tightly. He lifted her up to hold her as close as humanly possible, her feet dangling about a foot off the ground, the blades of grass tickling her toes.  
Her hands were upon his shoulders he continued to hoist her up against his body. The pronounced circles under his wide eyes made her want to weep and demand of him that he rest, but she was so elated that he was safe.  
“Thank God, you’re awake.” He whispered for her to hear, his warm breath in her ear. “I thought I’d never see your eyes open again.”  
He walked forward while still keeping her close, making sure her feet still avoided touching the dirty ground, and settled her back onto the bed.  
The blanket was placed back around now nearly bare legs, whether it was either to preserve her modesty or keep her warm, she would only feel embarrassed either way.  
“I take it that you’re her Schofield, then?” Lt. Joseph Blake spoke up, half-jokingly reminding the two reunited people of his presence.  
“You’re Joseph Blake?” Emmanuelle asked him as the lieutenant stood a respectable distance away as Schofield knelt on the opposite side of her bed and took ahold of her hand in both of his. “Why were you here with me?”  
“Why don’t you tell me your name, miss? Then, we’ll get down to the bottom of this confusion.” Lt. Blake’s eyes held a gleam that she wasn’t too certain if he had much patience left to hold. He had just been blown through on the battlefield.  
Schofield wanted to talk Blake down and keep the focus between them any way from Emmy, but she was a part of this too.  
Emmy groaned with the pressure of an oncoming headache pushing against her temple, but she flinched away the pain and could feel Schofield’s concerned faze on her.  
“My name is Emmanuelle Hunterson. Lance Corporal Schofield found me because I…I’d lost my way and he offered me protection.” She omitted certain parts of her explanation, but Emmy knew Lt. Blake was catching on.  
“You said my brother’s name. Tom Blake.” His tone was on the verge of accusatory and one of Schofield’s hands released Emmy’s and clutched onto the edge of her bed to keep this exchange from turning confrontational.  
“Yes, I knew him!” She cried out in an uncontrollable burst of sadness. Her other hand went to her mouth as she used past tense in reference to the late Lance Corporal Blake.  
“I’m from the 8th Devons, sent here with him to deliver a message.” Schofield explained further, fighting the urge to enfold Emmanuelle into his arms and comfort her.  
Joseph stared at the both of them, his mind gathering together what this woman meant about her reaction to using the word “Knew” and Schofield’s lack of detail. His vibrant eyes filled with tears of repressed mourning.  
“It was very quick.” Schofield lied for the lieutenant’s benefit, not describing how the boy had died slowly while losing copious amounts of blood and begging for him to find his brother. “I’m sorry.”  
Emmanuelle looked down at her lap and stayed silent. This news was not hers to tell. Schofield’s hand holdings hers prevented her from breaking into sobs that would only work to increase her slowly downgrading fever.  
Schofield stood up from her bedside and reached into his uniform tunic. He stood before the silently grieving Blake. He pulled out Tom’s rings and army dog tag, spotted with dried blood on the precious metal, and placed them into the lieutenant’s outreached hand.  
Lt. Blake stared down at the trinkets in his trembling hand before clenching them tightly into his fist and placing it into his own tunic pocket. His eyes were shining with tears he refused to allow freedom.  
Something overcame Emmy as she again arose from the bed, knowing it was well against her judgment, but she didn’t care. She was done with all this death and destruction around her.  
“Emmy.” Schofield said her name and he took a step toward her as her feet were placed on the grass, specks of dirt coating between her toes. She looked up at him with a look that must have given him the message to allow her this moment.  
Joe Blake stood still as a statue as the petite woman stepped toward him, her green eyes locking with his as he stared at her in wondrous confusion.   
Schofield took a step back as well his breath taken away at the sight of her walking up to the grief-stricken soldier. She enfolded her arms around his waist and embraced him.  
A simple gesture of giving assurance that he wasn’t alone in grieving Thomas Blake…   
Comforting a total stranger…  
Lt. Blake stiffened at the feeling of this girl’s thin arms around him, but the principle instincts of pushing away his emotions failed him. His rough hands clutched at her back as gently as possible, knowing that a fellow soldier who had a romantic connection with this woman was witnessing their action that she had initiated.  
His forehead touched her shoulder as he released a sob. Only one he could afford right now…   
His remaining men needed him to stay strong.  
Joseph Blake unwound himself from the lovely woman’s embrace and stepped away, wiping away some stray tears.  
Emmanuelle took her own steps back away from the lieutenant and walked to Schofield. His arms went around her as though it were an instinct for him. She stood on her tiptoes to press her lips to his in a kiss conveying that he didn’t need to be worried about her hugging another man in front of him.   
As though he couldn’t have loved her any more for what she had done for him, but for an unfamiliar person who simply needed someone there for a moment just to be human.   
Her entrancing beauty aside, Schofield loved her compassion and her spirited internal strength.   
Lt. Blake cleared his throat and stood up straighter than he had been before. “The both of you will need some food. Lance Corporal, you get your lady some food from the mess tent.”  
Schofield nodded silently in response as Emmy laid her head against him, listening to his heartbeat and his voice vibrating in his chest as he spoke. The combination was the most soothing sound to her.  
“If I may, I’d like to write to your mother. Tell her that Tom wasn’t alone.” Schofield attempted to further soothe the wound of Lt. Blake’s mourning.   
“Of course.” He responded with a great amount of dignity in those two words.  
“He was good man. He made me laugh when I was the most frightened.” Emmanuelle spoke up to Lt. Blake, smiling at the memory of Tom joking with her at the abandoned barn from what felt like an eternity ago.   
Schofield’s heart lurched at the mental picture of how he had found Emmy at that damned farmhouse. He hoped that whole property had burnt to ashes.  
Except for the chopped down cherry blossom trees…  
“In a way, he saved the both of us.” The lance corporal stepped toward Lt. Blake and held out his hand.  
Emmy followed suit, wanting to support both Schofield and the elder Blake brother with this vital interaction.  
“I’m glad you were both with him.” The lieutenant held out his hand to Schofield, who graciously took it in a proper gentleman’s hand-sake of mutual thankfulness. “Thank you, Will.”  
Schofield only silently nodded, conveying everything that wasn’t necessary to say in words. Emmy felt so proud, loving him all the more for his benevolence towards a comrade.   
“And you, as well, Miss Hunterson.” Joseph Blake took ahold of her hand and bowed his head, pressing his lips for the briefest of seconds to her delicate knuckles. “You two are most fortunate to have each other. Reminds me that there’s still good to be found in this world.”  
After releasing her hand, he walked away from the tent and out of their sight, perhaps for a moment alone to process everything.  
“Oh, Will. I’m so glad you’re safe.” Emmanuelle sighed, leaning into her Lance Corporal’s arms. “Get me out of this tent. I wanna feel the sun on my face.”  
“Emmy.” He protested, stepping back to hold her face in his hands. “You still feel very warm. We need to get you to a real hospital.”  
“Will, please.” She begged him, reaching up with her own hands to stroke his with her fingers. “I just want a moment with you where we’re not running for our lives and being shot at. That’s what you want for me, right? To be not be afraid anymore?”  
He led her to the bed she had been lying on and went down on his knees in front of her, not breaking eye contact. His hands held tightly onto hers as though she would vanish from his sight.  
“Emmanuelle, I want you to be able to breathe without fighting through sickness. And to eat proper meals morning and night without the uncertainty that you’ll live to see another minute. You deserve to smile and laugh, to enjoy every day of your life free of danger. And around those who love and care for you.” He was choking up with his words to her.  
“And you don’t include yourself among those people?” She dared to challenge him with her question, wanting to provoke him into expressing what he felt for her.  
“Emmy, you should never doubt what I feel for you.” His hands held her face again, his thumbs stroking along her lower cheeks. He finally found the resolve to say those important words aloud while looking into her eyes. “I love you so much; I never thought my heart could contain this much feeling for one person. You were the only thing on my mind as I was running through the battlefield to get that message to Mackenzie. I had to make it back to you.”  
She flung herself onto him, her arms around his neck. The mere thought of him running through a bombed and shelled battlefield terrified her to no end.   
He immediately cradled her close, standing up from the bedside and gathered her up so her feet weren’t upon the soil.   
Schofield walked outside into the dawning sunrise with Emmanuelle safe in his arms again, his feet taking them both toward a large tree on the small hilltop. Its sheltering shade welcomed the both of them.  
Emmy laid her head on his shoulder, taking reassurance in the swaying motion of being carried through the grass by her Lance Corporal. The twittering of birds flying overhead only made her appreciate the outdoors in a way she never made before.  
They arrived to the base of the tree. Schofield leaned against the trunk and slowly sank down to sit on the ground, adjusting Emmanuelle in his lap where she was leaning against his chest. Her eyes closed and she began drift off inside her home in William Schofield’s arms, her head cushioned on his uniform collarbone. She knew she would never be safer anywhere else than with him.  
Schofield softly kissed the top of her matted head and leaned back on the tree, lifting his own head up to the sky and feeling the golden rays of warmth on his face. His eyes closed.  
For the first time in three years, he felt complete and invincible.   
And they both rested.


	10. Poison & Wine

WARNING: This chapter contains some description of child abuse. Read at your own risk! CHAPTER SONG: “Poison & Wine” by The Civil Wars March 20th, 2020 Richmond, Virginia “Mom, if I don’t go now while I have the chance, I’ll never get to see what’s out there in the world.” Emmanuelle Hunterson threw the last of her selected clothes in the suitcase, forcing the zipper to clasp the two divided ends together. Dust particles floated in the air of her bedroom as the adjusted the suitcase on her bed, reminding the young woman how little she had truly gone anywhere meaningful and how sheltered she had been all her life. Her education, her job, the friends she had drifted away from and most of all, the family dramatics… She had her mother on speaker-phone as she packed her things. Tomorrow morning, she’d be up bright and early for the airport and on her way to England. And away from her cramped apartment and its smothering confines… “Baby, I know Davy’s wanted to meet you. Why don’t you come to California and stay with us for awhile?” Her mother again reminded her of her latest’s boyfriend’s existence, whom she still had yet to see in person. And over the last few months, it was clear to Emmy that her mother considered Davy and his family as her own now. Emmy understood why her mother was so attached, having been hurt so many times in the past… And she was a grown woman now, she needed to stand by herself and be independent. “Mom, I’m not even going to be in the country tomorrow. And you already made your decision by moving as far away from Virginia as possible, away from all your family.” Emmy’s frustration increased at her mother not even acknowledging that she was taking such a huge step. “But, I’m happy that you’ve found a new one.” “Emmanuelle, please, just listen…” Her mom began, but Emmy interrupted. “No, Mom!” She asserted, feeling the weight of the years release her at last. “I’m not letting you drag me down anymore! I’m done with you forcing your boyfriends’ company on me and the fact that you’re never satisfied when you have something good in your life! I just…I can’t do it anymore.” A long pause on the speaker-phone, Emmy almost thought her mother had disconnected. But, she was proven wrong. “You should be grateful for everything I’ve done for you. I may not have been a perfect mother, but at least I never hurt you like your father did.” The flighty, half-tipsy tone of her mother completely disappeared as she spoke those sharp words. “Have a good time on your trip, Emmanuelle.” The young woman sat down on her bed by the suitcase as the dial tone emanated from her phone. She blinked back tears, reaching for her phone and ending the call. Her hands began to shake as she laid out flat on her bed covers, her legs hanging off the edge. She stared at her phone, exiting the call page and back onto the home screen before pressing the button on its side and setting it into “LOCKED” mode. Her mother’s words buzzed like a ringing tone in her eardrums, not having even thought about that man in years… She didn’t even know if he was still alive. And she didn’t care to find out… As far as Emmy was concerned, all she could rely on was herself to make things right in her life. The few friends she had in college and her well-to-do job as a librarian at the Richmond Public Library were in and out of her life as they either moved away to different cities or became occupied with family matters. Emmanuelle took a deep breath as she became lost in her thoughts. The screen on her phone had gone black, revealing her disheveled reflection. Her hair was still wet and tangled from her shower prior to the conversation with her mother. With the spring weather beginning to set in, her pajamas for the night consisted of a pair of grey sweat pants and a Guns n’ Roses t-shirt passed down from her mother’s youthful days as a rebellious college dropout. A dull rumble of thunder pealed through the night-time sky outside her small bedroom window as Emmy sat up, remembering that she had neglected to make an addition to her travel ensemble. Her novel collection to take on the plane… She made a mental note to only grab what she could fit in her carry-on bag, and she knew which ones exactly to take: the historical romances, love stories that took place in the distant past. The titles included in her selection included the various novels that appealed to the buried romantic that was harbored deep within her psyche, the side of herself she was ever hesitant to present fully to anyone. Private Peaceful Romeo & Juliet Atonement Pride & Prejudice Parade’s End Little Women Amongst those books, Emmy placed them in her carry-on. She made certain her laptop bag was secure with the battery and plug-in cord with various DVDs of genres matching those of her novel selection. Both her main suitcase and carry-on bag were placed at the foot of her bed, along with her variety of clothes to wear in the morning. There was nothing harmful about being a little over-prepared. She was officially ready to sleep for the night, her bitter argument with her mother pushed to the back of her mind. Nothing was going to ruin the trip for her. Emmy had never been out of the United States before and she was eager to see what wonders of history awaited her, to see before her very eyes what had only before been represented on a computer screen or book pages. She wanted to learn and educate her mind about the past, partly because it was a distraction from the present. Going to England would be a benefit for her, to meet different people, but mainly to absorb the knowledge of some of the world’s most important times past. She was certainly not going to present herself as an American tourist aiming to catch the eye of any English men, she told herself repeatedly as the days leading to her departure approached closer. No matter how helpful or charming they seemed to be, she would not grow attached and plant roots. . . “Emmy?” A comforting voice floated through Emmanuelle’s ears as she struggled to sift through the fog of sleep, fighting to break away from her dream of a haunted future past. “Emmy, wake up, my love.” William… Emmy’s sense of touch returned to her body as she felt herself lying horizontal on a flat surface, the noticeable absence of Schofield’s arms around her causing her body to shiver as though she were trapped in the freezing Arctic. The last when she was awake, she was with her Lance Corporal, in a green field of grass against a tree, the shelter of his presence allowing her a peaceful slumber. Schofield knelt at her bedside as her head tossed and turned on the pillow, his non-bandaged hand placing upon her cheek to hopefully calm her. Her erratic breathing ceased into a slower rhythm as she began to overcome whatever was tormenting her, Schofield’s injured hand holding one of hers, having been freshly bandaged with clean wrappings around his palm. Emmanuelle’s eyes shot open as she sat up; gasping in a rapid manner as though she had escaped a nightmare of visual horror. Schofield new all too well the painful adrenaline of reviving one’s self from a nightmare. “Emmanuelle, it’s alright. You’re safe.” He placed both hands upon her trembling shoulders to steady her. He noticed that she hadn’t even looked at him yet, as though he wasn’t even there at her side. “Mom, mama!” Emmy gasped, her own arms enfolding around herself, her eyes glassy and unfocused, not noticing the environment around her. “Shh…Emmy. Look at me.” Schofield placed both hands upon her cheeks, turning her face about to see him. “What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?” Her tears flowing from the woman’s reddened eyes forced her to readjust her sight and behold the soldier trying to provide her comfort. The heat radiating from her flushed cheeks pained Schofield to be reminded of her still existing fever. Her gasps of breath began to cease much to their relief and Emmy was immediately anchored back onto some level of lucid sanity. “Will.” A sob formed his name through her choked voice. Though her tears were leaking through his fingers as he tenderly held her face, they were both reunited with each other after all the hellish chaos endured and they had to enjoy any moment of happiness that was earned. “I’m here for you, just as I promised.” He soothed in her ear as her arms went around his neck. Schofield embraced Emmy with equal refusal to release her, adjusting himself to sit on the edge of her bed. Her head rested on his shoulder, the course fabric of his newly dried uniform feeling softer than any pillow she had rested upon before. Emmanuelle’s tears had left their lines down her face, but she had enough dignity to raise her head up and face him, her protector and newly proclaimed love… Even though she hadn’t seen her physical reflection in the 24 hours since arriving in this war-torn pocket of violent history, she knew she definitely didn’t look the same since before meeting Schofield. She was covered in bruises, various spots of blood and her near translucent skin still beaded with sweat. She felt semi-haggard and physically filthy, not even worthy of a gentle touch or kind word… She had human blood on her hands after all… She sighed out in exasperation, hanging her head and avoiding Schofield’s eyes. “I can see in your eyes, something’s troubling you, Emmanuelle.” He tipped her chin up with his fingers so improve visual upon her face. “Don’t be afraid to confide in me.” His words brought back what she had said to him back at the basement in that French town of fire and brimstone. The name of it escaped her, but she would never forget that moment where they had both crossed the bridge of their relationship. She had stripped away Schofield’s armor and exposed in him the man with the fate of many lives upon his shoulders and she sought to save him from his turmoil. They would serve to save each other. Emmy smiled in a half-hearted manner, grateful that he was willing to not just be her knight, protecting her physically from any threats in her presence, but be the slayer of her inner demons. They both leaned on her upright pillow, the surrounding noises around them of male voices shouting orders and the distant groans of injured soldiers, ambulances rumbling around the medical tents, one of which they were now residing in temporarily from when Schofield had first arrived with the message to Col. Mackenzie. “I…I was dreaming of…” She paused, gulping down the dryness in her throat and trying to form the words. She paused, fidgeting as her fingers played with Schofield’s much larger ones. He patiently waited for her to continue and she reveled in his strong reverent silence. His bandaged hand carefully wrapped around her wrist while the other cradled her hand. Schofield brought it to his lips and brushed her knuckles with a tender kiss of encouragement. She beamed at the tender gesture. Lance Corp. William Schofield had the absolute temperance of a saint if she ever knew one… What would he think once she told him about what she was like in her own time, in 2020? Would he be revolted and push her away? Would he withdraw any claim on her heart and proceed to abandon her to her own defenses in a foreign land and era? She wouldn’t know until she opened up to him… “Before I ended up in that farmhouse where you found me, I was in London. I was on a tour of the city; because I wanted to see what was out there in the world.” She looked down at her lap as Schofield enfolded his arm around her shoulders, holding to his side. “And where did your family live out in America?” He softly inquired, genuinely wanting to know more about this woman who possessed his heart. He still held her hand, encompassing her delicate fingers within his grip. “Richmond, Virginia. The night before I left for London, I had a fight with my mom.” Her eyes began to well up again as she remembered her dismissal of her mother’s pleas. “I come from a broken family.” Emmy looked up at Schofield, wanting to see his reaction to the phrase she had just used. She saw curiosity and sympathy in his eyes as he pulled her closer, maneuvering her to be sat between his legs since there was space on the makeshift bed for a single person. She was leaning against his chest as she had while they were resting on that tree in the field. Most likely, he had carried her back to the tent after they both dozed off. “I’m not certain what you mean, Emmy.” Schofield confessed his confusion with her description of her familial dilemma. “In my time, in the 21st century, divorce happens very frequently. Married couples fall out and sometimes for the worst reasons.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head on his breast-bone, feeling the rectangle tin in his front tunic pocket. “And your mother and father were no longer together?” Schofield questioned her again with that endless patience of his; it both calmed and saddened her at the same time. “My mom claimed that my dad was a drinker even before I was born. He may have even drunk more since I entered their lives. After I was born, my mom went to work at her job and my dad stayed home with me, promising he’d get help for his alcoholism.” The memories of her infanthood, at least according to her mother and the case file, came back to her. The strengthening safety of Schofield’s arms around her gave Emmy the courage to keep going with her tale of woe. “When I was two years old, I was being toilet trained. One day, my mom was at work and my aunt was supposed to help my dad keep an eye on me.” She kept on with the story, bracing herself to give him the details of the inciting incident. “For whatever reason, she couldn’t make it to help watch me, and it left my dad turning to beer again that day.” Schofield exhaled deeply as though he had been holding from breathing, hanging onto every word of her story. She felt him tense up as he sat behind her, one of his arms around her collarbone to keep her within reach. “Go on, if you want to, Emmy.” He whispered only for her to hear. She needed to know he wasn’t going anywhere away from her, no matter what she said next. She nodded, her hands grasping onto his arm that was encircling her as his protective instinct ached within the back of his mind. Schofield reminded himself that this was in her past, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. “He had a lot to drink that day and he’d given me a glass of grape juice with my breakfast. Later that morning…I’d made a mess in my pants and didn’t make it to the bathroom in time.” The embarrassment of revealing such private information to him made her want to cringe away from Schofield, to tell him that she was foul and impure, and that he deserved to love a woman better than herself, but she bit back her words. “You don’t have to say anything more about it if you don’t want to, Emmanuelle.” Schofield knew it was impossible, but he wanted to even keep her shielded from her own memories, the ones that brought her pain and misery. “No, I haven’t ever told anyone about this and I just want you to know the kind of life I had before I ended up here.” She asserted herself to him, not wanting to seem pathetic, to show him the type of woman he was pledging himself to. She blinked away the tears in her eyes as she took a deep breath, feeling Schofield’s nose skim the top of her head, his chin coming to rest atop of it. Her hair most likely still smelled like that river they had been swept up in, but she could be self-conscious later. She had to tell him… “As I was saying, I’d had an accident that morning, and when he saw the stain on my pajamas…” She took another breath as it came back to her, assaulting the forefront of her mind like a film she couldn’t turn away from. “He dragged me into the bathroom by the arm… he stood me in front of the toilet and held my hand down… Schofield’s jaw clenched as he raised his head up, inhaling a deep breath as his arm around her tightened with only the slightest pressure. Only then did Emmy begin to truly understand the depth of her Lance Corporal’s feelings for her. Even when he pictured her in his mind as a toddler, he still viewed her as the woman he loved and couldn’t bear to see her in danger of any kind. “He took the lid, which was heavy and made of marble, and smashed it down upon my hand.” Emmy looked down at her hands, clenching them into fists. “He broke two of my fingers on it.” She held up her hand to show Schofield as he loosened his arm around her so she could turn to face him. “I was taken to the hospital and the nurses rightly suspected it was due to child abuse. The police arrested my dad and my mom filed for divorce and a restraining order for him to stay away from us. She kept custody of me and he was legally barred from ever contacting me until I turned 18.” She engaged in Schofield’s reaction to her words as he stared at her hand. He gently took it into his own, as though it were a piece of fragile glass, his fingertips tracing over the length of all her fingers. He noticed two faint scars along the ring finger and her pinky finger, starting from the knuckle bone and ending at the fingernails. Schofield lifted her hand up, his lips placed an individual kiss on each scarred finger. Both his hands cradled her damaged one, his thumb lightly stroking her tiny knuckles. He looked up at her and Emmy saw none of the repugnance she had half expected to see on his face when she finished her story. His eyes held nothing but pure admiration and pride for her willing to tell him about such a difficult ordeal. “How could anyone want to hurt you then or now, Emmanuelle?” He spoke for the first time since her story concluded in a soft whisper, as though it were a question that had no true answer. “This… this doesn’t make you think any less of me, does it, Will?” Her other hand that wasn’t being held by his reached up and touched his slightly hollowed cheek. In spite of the rest they’d had under the tree, he still looked tired. “Of course not.” He responded without hesitation. “It leaves me thankful that you kept from further harm and he couldn’t go near you again.” “But, my mother!” She sobbed out, her head pounding with the increase of her tears. “I said awful things to her before I left…. And what if I can never apologize to her? I’m never going to see her again, am I?” Schofield felt helpless, listening to her crying as he wrapped her fully into his arms, pulling her closer than ever. Her scarred hand reached up and again felt the tobacco tin in his uniform front pocket, keeping in the back of her mind to ask him about what was inside and why it was kept within such easy reach. “I swear to you, Emmanuelle Julia Hunterson.” Schofield said her full name aloud, his eyes never leaving hers as they broke away from their embrace. “We’ll find a way to get you home. You will see your mother again and make amends with her.” He was making another vow to her, something that was unbreakable in the English code of honor he bore as a soldier and Emmy laughed with joy and relief that he was willing to endure this beyond strange predicament with her. Her tears were wiped away by his careful hands as she bent down and kissed his lips with a passion she never knew existed within her. She knew there were other people, other men, around but she failed to care. They loved each other and she wasn’t going to be ashamed of it. Lance Corporal William Christopher Schofield was her hero and placed any fictional literary figures she had once adored at the bottom tier. Romeo Montague, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Edward Rochester… Her Lance Corporal had them all beat; a man of flesh and blood who went above the limit for not only her but for over a thousand strangers with families of their own. They pulled away from their kissing, gasping for breath as though they had been underwater. Schofield smiled up at her she stood on her knees, gazing at her as though she held the sun and moon in each hand. “Beautiful isn’t a near adequate enough word to describe you, my love.” He murmured, his lips brushing hers with a chaste feather-touch of a kiss. “You already recited a poem about my eyes. Where did you learn it?” She asked, delighted in the chance to move the subject away from her past. “In school as a boy. I believe it’s by Geoffrey Chaucer.” Schofield told her, his nose skimming with the tip of hers. “Are you desiring any Shakespeare? I may be rusty with that one.” “Well, he wrote a lot of famous verses about women, their faces, everything about their qualities.” She couldn’t help but brag and hint about her knowledge as a librarian. “Like I said, you already gave me poetry about my eyes. What other features of mine are inspiring you?” Her voice lowered into a husky whisper as Schofield narrowed his eyes, considering negotiating with her but not using his words. His thumb traced along her bottom lip, and he thought of fulfilling her request. He opened his mouth to respond when his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of her stomach rumbling. What an idiot he was! Here he was sitting around when neither of them had sustainable meals in many hours. “Emmanuelle, I’m so sorry. I should’ve gotten food for you after I brought you back here.” Schofield apologized immensely. “Yes…I have been really hungry. I…I just didn’t wanna worry you since you were so tired.” She adjusted the pillow behind her as he removed himself from her bed and straightened up his uniform. “I promise not to tell Lt. Blake that you didn’t obey his order and made sure I ate. Just please get enough for yourself too.” She smiled at him, feeling more comfortable than ever now that she was able to joke with him. A sparkle in his eye shined brightly as he beamed back at her, and that she was looking out for his welfare too. “As you wish.” Schofield promised, stepping back to her bedside and bending down to kiss her lips once more. Before departing from her side, he whispered something not scribed by any author, but something original that was inspired by just seeing her so filled with happiness. “Mon amour pour vous durera pendant cette guerre et pour toujours après.’* *”My love for you will endure through this war and forevermore after.” The language is French since Schofield is implied to speak it in the film.


	11. Let Me Call You Sweetheart

CHAPTER SONG: “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” (1911) by The Peerless Quartet & Henry Burr  
*Song composed by Leo Friedman and lyrics by Beth Slater Whitson, copyrighted April 1910.

April 7th, 1917  
Dear Mrs. Blake,  
This letter is being written with the blessing of your eldest, Joseph. It’s with the deepest of sympathies that I feel to inform you of the departure of your son Thomas. There is no explanation my mind can conjure up that describes how much I miss his presence, so full of optimism and dreams of the future.  
I will spare you the details of what happened; only that it was in the heat of combat, quick and painless to where he felt nothing at all when he left this world. I was placed in the position of being by his side when he died, to assure him that he wouldn’t be alone. He was brave and selfless to the very end, eager to do the right thing and determined to keep his empathy as a human being.   
Even though my knowing of him was brief in the span of our deployment together, we got on immediately from the moment he first made me laugh. He was always looking to cheer up the boys in our darkest and hopeless of moments. And from how he spoke of you, I could see that he loved you and Joseph. I guarantee that you were the last person on his mind before he went to a much better place than this purgatory that remains of the French countryside.  
He is watching over us now and he would want you to remember him at his best. Please don’t hesitate in responding to this letter should you desire to reach out and ask what I can do to aid your family in this beyond difficult time. I am at your humble service.  
My most sincere condolences,  
Lance Corporal William Schofield  
8th Battalion of the Devonshire Regiment

Schofield read over the ink inscribed words in front of him on the fresh paper. Smears of his fingertips were coated along the edges, but he wanted to make sure this letter would be acceptable in sending to Blake’s mother.  
His stomach mercifully had ceased growling after having acquired whatever food he could grab from the mess tent for himself and Emmanuelle, making certain she had a fuller meal.   
His tin bowl of porridge with biscuit and cup of coffee mixed with a drop of rum, suggested by Lt. Blake, sat at his feet, each morsel eaten fully as they lay on the grass at his feet. The chair he was sitting in positioned by Emmy’s bedside as she finished her meal, Schofield glancing every now and then to see she ate every bite.  
No food could go to waste in wartime and he had deduced some time ago that she had gone longer than he without eating.   
She had finished her porridge and slice of ham, leaving Schofield relieved that she was gaining nutrients in her body. He regrettably hadn’t been able to find any chocolate delicacies for her to treat herself with as she had teasingly requested.  
His eyes ended up focused for one long second on a trail of tea dripping down her chin and then to her bruised throat as she drank the rest of the liquid in her cup. She wiped it away with the napkin he had provided her with before his mind could go to a more ungentlemanly path of thought.   
“That was delicious, Will.” She placed her dishes at the foot of the makeshift bed. “I feel much more energized now.”  
Pulling the blanket off of her legs, she swung them over the edge of the bed so her feet could touch the ground, a slight cough escaping from her mouth. Schofield looked in her direction, tearing his eyes away from the letter he was focused on again momentarily.  
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Emmanuelle.” He took ahold of her hand and kissed it. Schofield tasted the sweetened remnants of tea staining her fingers. “But, I really don’t want to take any risks with your health. Tonight, I’ll make arrangements to escort you to a hospital. We want to ensure you have a clean bill of recovery.”  
His larger hands held hers in their gentle grip. She braced herself for her legs to stand herself up, feeling the blood pumping down in her veins.   
“At least let me stand up, I’ve barely walked on my feet all day.” Emmy pulled her hands away from his grip, keeping in mind the wound on her leg. She felt Schofield’s eyes never leave her face as she stood to her full height from the bed.  
“My love, we need to mind your leg. Until it heals, you need to be careful.” His hands reached forward, preparing to catch her should she fall.   
Emmy placed as little pressure as possible on her bandaged leg, balancing her body in front of Schofield, knowing she probably looked like an amateur ballerina, practicing standing with only one limb of her body.  
“Will, you can’t keep me from getting hurt every second of the day.” She held her head high as she kept balancing herself to stand correctly. By instinct, she placed an equal amount of weight on her wounded leg and she leaned backward to her bed. She winced at the pain in her calf where it was spreading to her thigh.   
Schofield placed an arm around her shoulders before she could fall onto the bed, guiding her to sit down again. “How badly does it hurt? Should I fetch a surgeon for you?”  
“Will, I’m fine! I’m not a delicate flower…” She huffed, shrugging his arm off of her. The guilt immediately washed over in her conscience. Her emotions were all over the place and she could hear Schofield’s intake of breath at her irritated attitude.   
He had been through Hell and back in the last day and a half, much more than she had endured, and here she was snapping at him over his worry for her.   
Schofield’s head was bowed, his gaze aimed at the ground at their feet, avoiding her eyes. He said so much with just his body language and facial gestures, his jaw clenching with repressed feeling. Any apology she attempted would be futile compared to the sorrow she was experiencing for him.  
He had helped and protected her when he had no reason to. She couldn’t afford to push him away after everything they had endured together.  
“Will?” Her hand reached under his chin so he would meet her eyes. “I’m sorry… You deserve better than me raising my temper. I know you’re only looking out for my well-being.”  
Her fingers stroked through his brown hair, Schofield closing his eyes at her soothing touch. A sigh of bliss exhaled from him, his hand pulling her closer to him.   
“Come here, love.” He whispered, his arm scooping up her legs and his other one gently tugging her down to be perched in his lap. “You’ve no reason to apologize. But, you must at least allow me to arrange for you to be at a hospital. It’s not safe here for you.”  
“There’s a war happening.” Her arms were around his neck, their foreheads touching. Schofield’s brow was slick with sweat, his arms clutching her close. “There’s no safe place for anyone.”  
The severity of her words was such that Schofield could think of no verbal response to them. He had to remind himself over again that she was not a naïve girl born of this era. She knew of things which he could not possibly fathom.  
Her words from the basement in Ecoust, when they had been entangled together in blissful ignorance in the aftermath of declaring feelings for one another, echoed in his memory…  
There’s something I need to tell you… when the war will be over…  
“Emmanuelle?” He said her name to gain her attention. His un-bandaged hand wove through her untamable brunette hair as he brushed it over one of her shoulders. “Back when we were in Ecoust…in that basement…” He began slowly, hoping to ease her into answering what he was about to ask. A shiver racked down his own spine at recalling the events in that godforsaken town. “You had mentioned knowing about when this war will be over.”  
He paused to gage her reaction. Just like when they had been discussing her personal past, he knew he had to keep patience with her, or risk frightening her away like a started rabbit. He wanted to know more of what she was thinking. In the many hours of knowing her, just hearing her speak was like listening to a musical instrument he had never heard before, intriguing him and leaving him with desiring all the knowledge she had to offer. Her mind was a treasure trove of beautiful mystery…  
Emmy looked away from him and stared at the ground, the trail of ants crawling along the dirt to the small mound of their home keeping her focus instead.   
“Emmanuelle?” Schofield murmured her name again as she continued staring away from him in contemplative silence. “What is it? You’ve gone pale again.”  
Worry saturated his voice as he carefully lifted Emmy up in his arms and placed her back on the bed. Her legs knocked over her dish of leftover food crumbs and empty teacup onto the dirt by the anthill. The insects scattered out of line and toward the plate like a chaotic army with no direction…  
The woolen blanket covered her up to her bosom as she leaned back against the pillow. She still had yet to look Schofield in the eye as she remained speechless. The concerned Lance Corporal held a tin of cold water from the rickety table at the bedside.  
“At least drink some water, sweetheart.” He calmly ordered her, the term of endearment slipping off his tongue without effort. He had never used such a saccharine word in reference to anyone before, but he would’ve said anything to break her out of this state of mind.   
What on God’s earth was going through her head?   
He raised his hand up and felt her forehead, sleek with perspiration and mild fever, thankfully not as strong compared to when he had to carry her up that damning hill from the rapids, him struggling to walk and her battling to breathe air into her lungs.  
Her shaking fingers took hold of the water tin, her hands trembling as she brought it to her freshly licked lips and drank every drop, much to Schofield’s relief. She laid the tin cup in her lap, hanging her head before finally turning to look her lion-hearted soldier.   
“Will, I can’t tell you anything like that about the future.” The crack in her voice was evident despite the recent hydration in her throat. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Any dates or events that happen after today…”  
She trailed off, shaking her head as she placed both hands upon her scalp, fingers curling to grab onto greasy strands of her hair.  
Schofield placed his bandaged hand on her shoulder, the other one upon her cheek, attempting to comfort her or at least keep her from accidentally harming herself in this emotional turmoil tormenting her. What he would have given to understand this woman whom he loved beyond his own comprehension…  
“Say something, please.” Schofield was nearly begging her to speak. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he couldn’t bear to see her suffer in selective muteness. “I’m here. Nothing you say will sway my heart away from you.”  
She emitted an unearthly hybrid of a sound, between a laugh and a sob.   
“I’m sorry, Will!” She turned to look at him again, a lone tear from each eye streaming down her face. “I’m afraid if I say anything about the future with this war… it could compromise what’s already supposed to happen. I can’t say anything without risking your safety. You’ve done enough worrying about mine. If anything happened to you…and knowing it would be because of me. If you hadn’t found me…maybe Tom would still be alive…if I hadn’t interfered.”  
Schofield absorbed her words, contemplating how to respond to her confession, but he took hold of her face with both hands, careful not to touch the yet-to-be-healed skin of her neck. The reminding bruises of that farm and that German pilot…  
“Emmanuelle… there was nothing either of us could do with what happened to Tom. Even if you weren’t there, the chances of both of us not making it here would still be slim. But I’m glad he was able to know you before he died. You bewitched the both of us for the better.” His thumbs wiped away her tears as they leaned toward one another, pulled to each other by a magnetic force neither of them was willing to question.  
“Surely I wasn’t that much of a catch for you, Will.” She whispered, pulling away from him as he released her face. “I was probably the first woman you’d seen in months, just eager to see a pretty face. While I’ve never felt this way for a man the way I do for you… part of me worries…what if I feel differently…if I ever make it back to my own time? And…what if you don’t feel the same way for me after the war is over. I…I know we haven’t had much time to deliberate us being together… And people don’t fall in love after only hours of meeting each other. But…when you and Blake first spoke to me after I woke up at the farm… I knew that you weren’t going to hurt me and that I could trust you. I felt like I’d known you for years…for all my life. ”  
She trailed off in her speech, feeling Schofield’s pensive gaze on her. Emmy thought about all the literary couples in the books she’d studied and read to their final pages. She knew how to separate fictional stories from real life. She was never one to form fast and strong attachments to any man, no matter how generous or friendly they seemed. She had been completely content with her independence.   
But what if her being here was no accident?   
The picture of her as a bride in 1918, unrecognizable and seeming as though she belonged in that photo, the wedding dress adorning her body perfectly down to the last stitch of fabric. And the engagement ring that fit her finger as if it were fashioned exclusively for her petite hand…  
Was she meant to be in this era of the 1910s rather than 2020? Could she truly acclimate to being here in the long term? If she even lived to see tomorrow…  
“Emmanuelle.” Schofield was on his knees at her bedside, at his tall form allowing him to be at eye level with her as she reclined on the bed. “This godforsaken war has made me do things I’ve regretted.” He looked down at the ground, casting his eyes away, feeling unworthy of being in her presence. “Not just here…but in Thiepval, last year…”   
He choked on his words, not able to make any sounds come out of his mouth.   
Thomas Blake was just an addition to his mental list written in the blood of the men he had witnessed dying… All the wasted, young lives…   
Emmy put the pieces together, deciphering what he confessing to her in such few words.  
He had been in the Battle of the Somme, the casualties on record far too great to place in an exact number. At least in the millions, according to the history books. Pictures or sound-bites she may have sampled at any museum would seem like a cheap imitation compared to the real horrors Schofield was certain to have seen before his eyes. He had blood on his hands, like she did now… And she would have to live with it.  
She wouldn’t ask him to recall such events for shallow curiosity.  
He was being shaken by a traumatic memory and here she was worrying like a schoolgirl over this man’s feelings for her. Out of all the women in the world, how could he love her? She still believed every word he said to her, however. They echoed within her mind every time she doubted if she was deserving of his affection.  
She lifted up his hand in her small grip and kissed his fingers, like how he had done earlier for her. His large blue eyes looked up at her gesture of adoration.   
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Will.” She repeated the same sentiment from when she had opened up to him about her own past.   
Schofield hung his head and exhaled a heavy sigh, as though a weight were lifted from his shoulders. He soaked in the gentleness of her touch.  
“Emmanuelle, you being here is just as important as me and Blake being sent to deliver that message to Col. MacKenzie. Sixteen hundred lives would be lost if you hadn’t pulled me out of that river. I was ready to give up, but made me see sense. You were sent here to save us, to be my guardian angel. God must have seen something in you… and brought us together.”   
She nodded her head, the tears returning to her eyes. She wiped them away quickly before he could notice. He most likely did, Schofield was perceptive in that manner.  
Exhausted of this baffling subject matter, saw a glint of gold shine on the shoulder of his uniform that caught in the afternoon sunlight through one of the holes ripped in the tent.   
The word “SURREY” on his shoulder and she felt like a prize idiot for not noticing before after being carried around by this man multiple times in the last day and a half. Most of the soldiers’ uniforms bore the name of the town of their enlistment or residence… That must have been where his family was…  
A strange sound floated in her ears on the breeze. A crackle of static and a slow melody of trumpets…  
Somebody was playing a gramophone in another tent nearby. She couldn’t hold whoever it belonged to at fault for enjoying music in a time like this.  
The singing of the lyrics was difficult for her to hear because of the recording quality, but she was distracted by the sound of Schofield humming along with the tune. He knew the song… and she wanted to learn more about from him.   
“What’s this song, Will?” She asked him, her tone of voice almost childlike in her interest.  
“Let Me Call You Sweetheart”, it was played at my sister’s wedding when she married.” A melancholic note invaded his voice as he mentioned a detail of his life before the war to her.  
Their hands were still locked together, and she suddenly felt the need to follow the rhythm of the song, to have him hold her as they danced… But that would only be hindered with her injured leg.   
If she couldn’t be on her feet without aid, they could at least improvise.   
“Would you be able to help me understand the lyrics? I don’t understand what they’re singing about.” She was partly playing coy and genuinely struggling to listen to the words.  
Her arms were then around his neck, leaning as close to him as possible while still sitting in bed. Her fingers played with the hair at the back of his head, careful not to touch where his cranial injury was. Schofield’s arms reached around her, his hands hooking together along her upper back.   
Their foreheads touched, and their eyes closed, reveling in one another’s embrace, as though one couldn’t live without the other.   
*”Longing for you all the while, more and more  
Longing for the sunny smile I adore  
You alone my heart can cheer… “  
He was pouring his heart out to her, presenting his truly vulnerable side and a romantic persona that most men in her own time would be afraid to show, at the expense of their own masculinity… In those precious moments, they were allowed to forget where they were, they could shelter each other with the happiness flowing through them.  
Never in her twenty-eight years of life had Emmy felt so safe and protected…  
Schofield himself knew he could be his true self around this woman…but at the same time, he knew he had little to offer her. She was from a different world and he didn’t blame her for wanting to return home. Because he loved Emmanuelle, he had to stay true to his word and he couldn’t be selfish with her…  
“Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you  
Let me hear you whisper that you love me too”  
He leaned closer to breathe those last lyrics of the song into her ear, serenading her. His lips brushed her blushing cheek with a chaste kiss.   
Emmanuelle could feel her eyelids getting heavy, her eyelashes fluttering against Schofield’s cheekbone as they leaned back away from each other. When the concluding notes of the song faded away, Emmy graced his lips with a kiss of her own, pulling away while mouthing those immortal words.  
“I love you, William.”   
A yawn escaped her before she winced, clutching at her side where her ribcage was. No doubt she was bruised up especially from that waterfall, and very fortunate not to have broken any bones.  
“Lay back, my love. Don’t strain yourself. I had you sitting up too long. Forgive me.” Schofield placed his hands upon her shoulders, gingerly positioning her against the pillow so she was somewhat comfortable.  
“I’m okay. It’s just probably more bruising on me.” She attempted to brush off his apology, but found it difficult to ignore the worry in his eyes.  
“Try to sleep some more. I’ll wake you once I have more information about getting an ambulance for transport to the hospital.” He took her hand into his pressed his lips to her knuckles.  
She yawned again and he couldn’t help but smile at her battle to stay awake. “What I’d give right now for a change of clothes and a hot bath.”  
Emmy more mumbled the words to herself than to Schofield as she turned her head and closed her eyes. He set her hand back at her side and situated the blanket to cover her up to the shoulders.   
She appeared to have fallen into a quiet slumber as he went to his chair and grabbed up the letter he had penned for the Blake matriarch. His heart felt heavy with grief as he looked over the words again, deciding if he should have a second opinion on it before giving it out to be delivered for the mail carrier.  
The lovely sight of Emmy sleeping only an arm’s reach away from him convinced Schofield that he should catch up on some much needed rest as well.   
Sitting upon the chair, its wooden legs squeaking beneath his weight which thankfully didn’t disturb the woman resting by him; he pulled out his blue tobacco tin from his tunic pocket and removed the lid. Safekeeping for the letter while he weighed on his decision how to proceed further…  
His other keepsakes, pictures and knickknacks from home remained intact and he sent a silent thanks to the maker of this sturdy container, allowing it to survive without a single dent in the metal or a drop of water from the river to soak his precious photographs.  
As he placed the letter in the tin, a strong breeze sent one of the photos from the bottom of the stack floating in the air. In a haste not to lose it, Schofield stood to his feet and snatched the picture in his hand before it could be blown out of the tent.  
Sighing to himself, he sat back down in the chair and pulled out each photo, just to reassure himself that they were in pristine condition.   
The lone photo of his older sister, Molly Satterthwaite, regal in her best Sunday dressing and her kind eyes staring at the camera with subtle authority.  
Then, the picture of her daughters, his two little nieces… Cecelia or “Cici” as he lovingly nicknamed her and Giselle or “Elle”, she had called herself after having trouble saying her name whilst in the process of growing out her front teeth. Their innocent faces smiling at the photographer with the promise of their whole lives ahead of them.  
As Schofield went through the photo stack, he noticed one extra concealed from his sight. The one that almost escaped from the tin, but one he had not placed in there before nor had he known its existence…  
Emmanuelle Hunterson was the subject of the ambiguous picture, and the vivid color palette almost hurt his eyes, he was unaccustomed to such clarity in such an image, however beautiful it was…  
A picture of her, in the brightest color was in his tobacco tin. Somehow he knew it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him from a lack of sleep. This was real, and if he was to believe his own words to Emmy from before, divine intervention had a hand in this beguiling miracle.  
He turned the photo over and the words he read made him thank the heavens for giving him an anchor to prevent him from drifting out into the vast ocean of this war.  
November 11th, 1918  
I’ll come back to you, Will  
Forever yours, Emmy XXX


	12. Wings

CHAPTER SONG: “Wings” by Birdy

William Schofield was a man who had witnessed many horrors in the last few years, more so than any living human should see in their whole lifetime.   
Just in the last twenty four hours, he had been swept up in too many emotions for his brain to comprehend.   
The photograph he now held of this mysterious and wonderful woman that lay in her makeshift bed beside in the confined tent only served to contribute to his growing attachment to her. If he had difficulty believing before that she was from the future from their conversations previous, there was confirmation of it right in his hands.  
A date written that had yet to happen and a photograph in blindingly gorgeous style… And it had appeared in his tin container as though he had always kept on his person.   
While he had no doubt that Emmanuelle Hunterson was the woman with eternal possession of his heart and it was custom for soldiers to carry keepsakes of their beloveds close to them, Schofield knew that perhaps this was a sign that she would soon be able to return to her own era.  
And if she did, would they ever see each other again?  
He thought back to his dialogue with Thomas Blake, when they had been walking in the open fields and to the abandoned farmer’s property. Just mere minutes before God had given him another reason to keep going in the form of his finding Emmy…  
“I hated going home. When I knew I couldn’t stay… When I knew I had to leave, and they might never see…”  
He hadn’t even been able to mention to his comrade exactly who he had been referring to when talking about his family.   
And even when Blake had mentioned about his leave being cancelled when they were both due home soon, Schofield only merely shrugged him off.   
“It’s easier not to go back at all.”  
He truly missed his nieces and sister, but every time leaving them to pack up for the train to France left him more heartbroken.   
But he had never felt more so than when he held Emmy as she sobbed in his arms about her childhood trauma with her father and her departing quarrel with her mother.   
He never considered himself much of a hypocrite until he truly saw her express her desire for home. And the promise he made to her was slowly causing him to make a turnaround on that subject.   
Seeing this picture of her only confirmed his final decision on keeping her safe…  
He would ask her to come with him on his leave after she healed enough to travel. While he had every intention of figuring out a way to get her back to her own time, ensuring her protection was still his utmost priority when it came to Emmanuelle.  
Yet, he couldn’t ignore his bound duty to his battalion for the next few weeks until his relief…   
A familiar male voice sounded outside as the Lance Corporal’s ears perked up in alert. He glanced toward Emmy’s sleeping form as she turned onto her side, groaning in certain discomfort in her sleep. Schofield breathed out a sigh as he quickly placed the photographs back into his tin and situated the container back into his tunic.  
He listened closer to the approaching voice, recognizing it as that of Colonel MacKenzie, accompanied by that of Lt. Joseph Blake and Major Hepburn, the officer who had genuinely thanked him back in the cut-and-cover during the initial attack.  
Schofield stood to attention, clearing his throat as he took a cautionary look back at the slumbering woman, a rare feeling of peace momentarily coursing through his body. She appeared to have calmed down into normal sleep, comforting him in the knowledge that she was getting the rest that was desperately needed and was beyond deserving for her.  
He pushed the flap of the tent and stepped into the afternoon sunlight. His eyes squinted from the brightness until he became re-accustomed to it, adjusting the entrance flap to make sure the light didn’t stream in and disturb Emmy.  
Schofield stood up straight, his back a steel rod as he composed himself to display the demeanor of a proper soldier. The past hours being with Emmy since their reunion after the attack had made him feel like a normal man again, like she was restoring within him a semblance of his former self from before the war.  
Casting aside any distracting thoughts before they overwhelmed him, Schofield looked ahead and saw the three men of superior rank to him approach him in his line of sight. MacKenzie was leading the away, Lt. Blake and Major Hepburn flanking him from both sides. Blake made eye contact with Schofield, an apologetic look on his face that sorely reminded him of Tom…  
“Lance Corporal Schofield.” Col. MacKenzie acknowledged him, his voice commanding unbreakable attention with just those three words.   
“Colonel MacKenzie, sir.” Schofield saluted him, slight dread coiling in his stomach. He placed his hand down from his forehead and slowly back to his side as he awaited what was wanted from him.  
“I’m stunned to find you still here rather than returning to your battalion having completed your mission. I assume you have a compelling reason to remain in this camp if Lt. Blake’s story is to be believed.” MacKenzie’s eyes were hard and stern as he observed the younger man’s demeanor. “Your motivation is in the form of a lovely woman of questionable origins, by the name of Emmanuelle Hunterson.”  
Schofield, trained in his stoicism, met the Colonel’s eyes and didn’t look away. He would remain respectful as possible to his superior officer, but he would still stand to defend Emmanuelle’s reputation.   
“Sir, there is a woman here that accompanied me on my mission, but she has done no wrong to anyone. She saved my life and I would not have made it to deliver my message if it hadn’t been for her.” His tone of voice hopefully conveyed enough for the Major and Lieutenant to vouch for him. “In this tent, she lays resting, exhausted as I am from our journey. All I ask to is to arrange secure transport for her to a hospital where she can heal properly from her injuries. ”   
“It’s the least we can do, sir.” Lt. Blake spoke up, walking to the Lance Corporal and standing on one side of him, as though to aid in guarding the tent entrance. “Is it not our duty first and foremost as soldiers to keep the innocent from the enemy’s grasp?”  
MacKenzie narrowed his piercing gaze toward the two younger men while Hepburn continued to stand at his side, seemingly conflicted on which side of this dispute to choose.   
“The ambulances are for soldiers only, not citizens found wandering disillusioned in the middle of war-torn France. I’m not giving up a medical vehicle for one woman who would only serve as a distraction for my men form their duties.” The Colonel was firm with his words, leaving little space for argument, but he knew deep down that this discussion would only escalate.  
“Colonel MacKenzie, I must emphasize for her sake. Miss Hunterson rescued me from the river leading southeast from Ecoust. We were both tossed over the waterfall and she used her remaining strength to pull me onto the riverbank.” Schofield stood over to where he was in front of the tent entrance, completely barring admission; his face impassive with a subtle determination to convince the superior officer in considering this woman’s value.   
“I did receive word from one of my privates, Sir. They had found Corporal Schofield with a woman in the woods right before D Company was to move out to the front lines. They were both soaking wet, and the girl was burning with fever. She was on the verge of death, Colonel. One of my privates took her away from Schofield and carried her to one of the triage tents. Schofield begged them to get her to safety.” Major Hepburn explained further to MacKenzie, stepping in front of him to put his focus away from the youthful soldiers blocking his path into the tent.   
“Something tells me Major that Corporal Schofield’s interest in this woman’s situation is beyond a mere obligation of chivalric duty.” MacKenzie maneuvered around Hepburn and approached the other two men, both still guarding the tent’s entrance. “I shall like to speak with the young lady myself, assuming she’s more the assertive suffragist type, not to be intimidated by men with blood on their hands.”  
“No offence meant, Colonel. But, Ms. Hunterson is strong in ways you ‘d never know.” Lt. Blake looked to Schofield for a response to his words about Emmanuelle, even though they had only one previous encounter earlier that morning. He could still feel her embrace of compassion for the briefest of seconds, shielding him from his grief over Thomas.  
Schofield nodded to him silent thanks, ever grateful to be backed up by the elder Blake after everything endured to reach him with his tragic news.  
MacKenzie chuckled in a darkly humorous manner, but it was without malice. After the hellish morning of losing a great number of men in a meaningless attack, he could have used a dose of comedy to lighten his mood.  
He would oblige the men if only because he was without the dedication at the moment to push an investigation of inquiry into the Lance Corporal’s conduct, keeping a woman nearby at his own disposal.   
“Lieutenant Blake and Corporal Schofield, I will ask you to step aside and allow me to hear the story straight from Miss Hunterson’s lips, assuming her tongue has not already been removed by the beastly Boche.” MacKenzie knew in good conscience that those words exited his mouth before he could stop them. He pushed the guilt into the back of his mind before his authoritative stance withered.  
Schofield inhaled a deep breath, restraining himself from stepping into the Colonel’s face. MacKenzie could curse him out up to the high heavens for the remainder of the war and treat him like something found beneath his shoe.   
But he would not make a mockery of the woman he loved, let alone before even meeting her for himself.   
His antagonism toward the Colonel ebbed away, replaced instead with a chuckle of anticipating Emmanuelle’s reaction to being interrogated by MacKenzie.  
“I assure you, Sir. She has a tongue sharp enough to make Emmeline Pankhurst faint with shock.” Schofield responded with a touch of wry sarcasm, his cynical side surfacing within his persona.  
“William?” Her voice sounded from inside the tent, startled and confused. “Where are you?”  
Schofield didn’t hesitate in turning toward where she was asking for him. He entered the tent and saw the sight of her standing on both legs, still struggling to keep upright. The woolen blanket, patched and tattered was just long enough to bundle around her petite body and keep the ripped dress that bore more resemblance to rags than a garment to wear concealed from hungry male eyes.  
“Emmy.” Schofield rushed to her side, enfolding his arm around her shoulders as she doubled over in a bout of pain. She took deep breaths, hanging her head down toward the ground until she gathered the energy to slowly stand up straight again.  
“My whole body hurts, Will.” The vertigo threatened to overwhelm her consciousness, but she managed to lean her head against his shoulder to keep balance. Her legs were wobbling as she went down to her knees on the grass, pulling them both to the ground.  
Schofield’s arms went around her immediately, holding her with absolute precision not to embrace her too tightly and darken her bruises further. “You’re going to be alright, my angel. I promise you’ll be in a warm bed soon and have a hot meal to nourish you. My strong and beautiful Emmanuelle, you brought me back to life with your love.”  
His whispers in her ear comforted her as the ringing decreased to a dull symphony of silence in her mind.   
Schofield could feel three pairs of baffled eyes on the both of them, but he didn’t care at the moment. He hoped at last, MacKenzie would believe him now that he was witnessing a young woman in agony.  
He could face a firing squad at dawn tomorrow and die satisfied knowing that she was being looked after properly and by kindhearted people when she needed it the most. Or if she was able to return somehow back to this incomprehensible year of 2020…  
She deserved all the happiness the 21st century had to offer her…  
MacKenzie watched, frozen where he stood as Lt. Blake went to assist the woman back onto her feet, mindful of her injured side as he adjusted the blanket back to cover her shivering form.   
“Sir, you can clearly see she needs medical attention beyond what’s here at the camp. Even if I return to my own battalion, I need someone to ensure she gets to a hospital safely.” Schofield’s arm went around her waist, gently pulling her to his side as he supported most of her weight.   
“William…” Emmy rasped, her voice gaining volume from when she had first spoken a few moments prior.  
All of the men failed to acknowledge her attempt to get their attention.  
“Colonel, I think Corp. Schofield may have a valid point. She can’t remain here, but the nearest hospital is at least a full night’s walk ahead. Surely we can spare a motor for transport.” Lt. Blake spoke up in agreement. He failed to notice Emmanuelle glaring at him as she stepped away out of the Lance Corporal’s arms.  
Schofield noticed her absence from his side, but stood by as she braced herself in between the two men.  
She winced as she fumbled to walk with her wounded leg, but she looked both Major Hepburn and Colonel MacKenzie straight in the eye. The tear stains streaked down her cheeks, her skin pallor pale with exhaustion, but she exuded determined vigor. She looked over the decoration medals on their uniforms, bringing to mind their myriad of political accomplishments in the last few years.  
But she knew that her Schofield had displayed more bravery in the last twenty four hours than all the generals mentioned the War’s history did in its entire four year duration, hiding in their bunks while their subordinates climbed over that wall into the Hell-on-Earth of No Man’s Land…   
Schofield and Lt. Blake watched as Emmanuelle removed the blanket from her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the ground and exposing her attire of the tattered beyond repair dress, leaving little to the imagination. The material was so faded that the bruises spotting her ribcage were visible along her abdomen…  
The finger printed bruises along her throat also came into focus as she stepped closer to the superior officers. Hepburn immediately understood Schofield was determined to keep this wounded creature from harm; as though he hadn’t already sympathized with the poor lad before.  
But, also the boy loved her. Clear as the sun in the sky above them…  
MacKenzie never broke his gaze away from the woman contesting him with her eyes, her mouth set in a firm line. If Schofield’s claim about her sharp tongue was to be believed, and if she were to bounce back from her display of momentary weakness…  
Then he would justifiably eat his words.  
“I was listening to what all of you were saying about me.” Her eyes darted from MacKenzie to Hepburn, then she turned around to face Schofield and Lt. Blake. They both looked down to the ground, avoiding her eyes in obvious guilt, like little boys caught by their mother sneaking a treat before supper.  
None of the men responded, waiting to see if she would continue. And she did.  
“All of you standing around, deciding where I would go and what was best for me, when half of you had never even set eyes on me before.” Her tone of voice was rising with irritation and a rekindling flame within her that was slowly resurrecting within the small statured woman. “Speaking for me as though I wasn’t a few feet away where I could speak for myself.”  
Schofield felt a smile of pride emerge on his lips.  
“I’m not a soldier, so I don’t have to follow anyone’s command but my own.” Emmy again faced Hepburn and MacKenzie. “I don’t want to cause any trouble around here. All I want is get away from here, to a hospital where I can recover from being shot at and thrown over a godforsaken waterfall. I’m not a suffragist or any other radical you assume me to be. I’m only a human being trying to survive to see my family again. Now if you can’t get that through your thick, helmeted skulls, then maybe you were both too damned stupid to enlist in this war to end all wars.”   
Her American Virginia-born attitude left all the men in amazed silence.  
Schofield remained silent, knowing there was no point in telling her to back down from mouthing off to a commanding officer. After all, they really had no authority over her as an innocent caught up in this hell-hole.  
It was another thing to love about her, the unpredictability…  
Even Blake looked to him conveying with his eyes that perhaps she had over-stepped her boundaries, but Schofield only shook his head to him.  
MacKenzie and Hepburn kept their eyes on the spirited young lady as she concluded her speech.   
Hepburn smiled with softness to his eyes at her as he removed his helmet in respect. “My dear, I do understand the severity of your predicament. We did not intend to offend you; we’re only trying to comprehend the situation. As lovely as I’m certain you are, your presence can serve to cause conflict.”  
“Correct, Major.” MacKenzie briefly turned to him before returning his gaze to the woman before him. “Ms. Hunterson, I’m prepared to make a bargain with you. I’ll arrange for a vehicle to escort you to the nearest hospital as soon as the sun sets tonight. A driver and additional man from this camp will accompany you. The catch is that Lance Corporal Schofield cannot be part of that campaign, being bound to his own battalion at the Eighth and having completed his mission to deliver that letter to us.”  
The embittered Colonel felt his own heart lurch at the sight of her fair features falling with disappointment and worry at the thought of being separated from her Lance Corporal. He had pictured a similar look to the faces of widows receiving the telegram at their doorstep when he had to write that bloodstained letter to them.  
His fingertips tilted up Emmy’s chin so she would meet his eyes, wishing he could do more but knew he was powerless against the iron grip of the British government.   
“There’s nothing else I can do beyond that, Ms. Hunterson. I am truly sorry.” He looked at her when he spoke, but directed his words also at Schofield. “Be ready to depart at sunset. Major, see who around here has a set of clothes close to her measurements and hot water sent to the tent for the lady so she can bathe.”  
“Right away, sir.” Hepburn immediately turned away and exited the tent, giving one last empathetic glance at Emmanuelle and Schofield.  
Emmy went back to her soldier and enfolded her arms around his waist, reveling in the rough fabric of his uniform against her cheek as she listened to his heartbeat. She had to cherish every second he was living…  
They had only hours left before separation for she had no idea how long.  
MacKenzie was about to exit the tent himself before another voice stopped him.  
“I’ll volunteer to escort Miss Hunterson, Colonel sir.” Lt. Blake spoke. “She knew my brother Tom in the minutes before he was killed. It’ll be an honor to make sure she gets to safety away from this battlefield. If she’ll accept me.”   
He turned to the woman wrapped in Schofield’s arms as though she were meant to fit in them.  
“Emmy, what do you think? Would you feel safe with him were I not around?” Schofield rubbed her upper arms with his hands she shivered involuntarily from a chill in the tent. “He did help care for you earlier today when you were ill, after all.”  
“Joseph, I can’t have you choose me over your men. You have more productive things to be doing around here.” Emmy went to the Lieutenant, limping on her injured leg. “And there’s the letter Will wrote to your mother.”  
Her hands held onto his uniform lapels as he stared her in bewilderment and a glint of sadness to his vibrant blue eyes.  
“I won’t have you getting hurt protecting me. If you become an additional paragraph to that letter, I’ll never forgive any of you.” She wobbled forward, but Blake managed to catch her before she fell.  
“Emmanuelle, I’ll not leave you to be escorted by strangers, nor leave you to travel alone and injured.” Schofield asserted himself, his serious tone of voice leaving no room for argument.  
“All of you, this is not up for debate.” MacKenzie made his final word to the trio. “Lt. Blake will join Ms. Hunterson and the ambulance driver at sunset. Lance Corporal Schofield, you’ll be allowed time to say your farewells to her before receiving your own transport back to your regiment. That’s an order and any form of noncompliance will be treated as insubordination, and you will all be punished in accordance to such disobedience.”  
Schofield enfolded his arms around Emmy, noticing the Colonel lock eyes with her again, as though he wanted to hide her from his sight. Lt. Blake stood valiantly at her other side.  
“And what would happen to me if I were to be punished, Colonel MacKenzie?” She dared to ask what neither man beside her would breathe with their words. “As someone who’s not under oath to follow your orders.”  
“Then you would find yourself not amongst the protection of the British Army, but at the mercy of the German barbarians. And you would be a beautiful prize for the Kaiser to add to his collection now that the Americans have joined the war.”*  
He exited the tent, feeling the eyes of Schofield and the elder Blake burning holes in his back. And the muffled sobs of Emmanuelle as she sobbed into Schofield’s chest.  
Even when she had hope of escape from here, there was the chance of the tables turning. Her eyes shut tight and all the sounds around her faded away. The vision of her in a post-Edwardian wedding dress again appearing in her mind only served to overwhelm the shattered young woman.  
Tom’s voice was in her head, calming her as her mind shut down amidst the shock.   
“Joe won’t let anything happen to you, Emmy. You and Scho have a destiny to follow. Just trust me.”  
The last thing she felt were two arms lifting her up to hold her close, most likely Schofield, and placing her back on the bed. A ghost of a sigh he exhaled and imprinted an invisible kiss upon her forehead.  
*AN: April 6th, 1917 when the film starts is the day recorded in history when America officially joined the First World War.


	13. Never Enough

CHAPTER SONG: “Never Enough” by Loren Allred  
Schofield planted himself in his chair at Emmanuelle’s bedside, anxiety gripping him with each passing hour as sunset crawled closer with the conclusion of the day. She was in and out of consciousness in the time leading to sun being buried in the horizon, but Lt. Blake had managed to acquire more food for her on the journey to the hospital, packed in a spare bag for her use.   
After awakening from her encounter with Colonel MacKenzie earlier that day, she was able to bathe courtesy of Lt. Blake borrowing a laundry barrel that was the perfect size for her petite frame and a simple set of tan trousers and loose shirt that hanged around her body, but it was an improvement over that tattered blue dress that was beyond repair. Even the worn boots only barely fit her feet, but they’d have to do until she arrived at the hospital where she’d be provided more proper clothing.  
After she had dressed in her temporary attire, she begged Schofield to throw the blue dress and her pink nightgown into the nearest fire pit.  
He stared at the vibrant photograph of her in his hand, absorbing each detail of color surrounding the smiling woman. The origins of how it had come into his possession still confounded him, and he debated in his head whether to ask her about it.  
Even though the concept of showing one’s teeth in a photograph was considered an undesirable image to display for his era, Schofield found his own lips curl into a rare smile at the sight of her beaming at the camera. He hadn’t truly smiled in such a long time he had almost forgotten what it felt like.  
The only two people who had made him laugh and feel happy even for the briefest of moments had been Thomas Blake and Emmy Hunterson. What he would give to make that feeling permanent…  
In the photograph of Emmanuelle, her brown hair was bunched up behind her head, emphasizing her fair features and the curves of her cheeks, painted with a faint pink flush and her green eyes shining with life. A few stray brunette strands hung on both sides of her face, perfectly framed as though it were intended to be a work of art hanged in a museum. He had never seen a woman with such liveliness in her eyes and he knew if that light within her soul diminished, Schofield would find himself to never be worthy of even looking in her direction.  
“Schofield? Lance Corporal Schofield?” A familiar voice sounded from outside the tent.   
Schofield placed the photograph of Emmy back into his tobacco tin, placing it onto his chair as he stood to attention  
Emmanuelle stirred slowly awake in the makeshift bed, brushing away a buzzing fly from her face. Her hand pressed to her face as she battled against an oncoming headache. As though by nature, her senses picked up that her soldier was still by her side, ever vigilant as he went to respond to the voice calling for him.  
“Major Hepburn, sir.” Schofield went to exit the tent, briefly glancing back at Emmy to see that she was awakening.  
“It’s alright.” He mouthed to her before turning and lifting up the flap of the tent to meet the major outside.  
Emmy could only hear the muffled voices, no doubt discussing the topic of her, from only a few meters away. Stretching out her arms, she removed the thick woolen blanket from around her and placed her now shoed feet onto the grass.  
Blinking away the blur of sleep from her eyes, she stood up, her legs wobbling from lack of use that day before steadying herself, the muscles within her working to support her slight weight. Despite her new clothing and shoes, Emmy knew she still looked bedraggled, her hair tangled and her face still bruised and blotted with circles under her eyes even though she had slept a majority of the day.  
.  
.  
Prior to her bathing earlier that day, Schofield had given her a small mirror after she begged him for one, wanting to see what she looked like after the trek they had endured.  
She had seen her reflection in the fingerprint smudged glass. Her face hadn’t endured as much trauma compared to the state of her body. After being left in the privacy of the tent to bathe, Schofield guarding the entrance and making sure the flap was completely sealed so nobody could peek inside; she had been disgusted at the bruises decorating her abdomen and ribcage area, explaining why she had been so sore to the point where she could barely walk. Her legs had their fair share of bruises, both of the recent purple and yellow variety.  
Whilst looking in the mirror, her neck continued to have the fingerprints left as a parting from the German pilot’s strangulation attempt on her. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot and her cheeks sunken almost as though she were a manufactured doll of macabre origins rather than a person. Her lips were chapped and cracked, which she was sure Schofield hadn’t found pleasure in kissing them.  
Before Schofield left the tent to allow her bathing, they both looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had sighed and hung her head. She was an absolute picture of disarray, and she had conveyed as much without words when she looked up at him for his input.  
How could he have ever thought she was attractive when she was so injured and exhausted and she had looked so the entire time they had been in each other’s presence?   
She had thrown the mirror to the ground with a dissatisfied huff, her self-esteem sinking. Schofield then turned her face away from the mirror to him, his gentle fingertips holding her chin.  
“Emmanuelle, your injuries will heal and they don’t tarnish you at all.” Schofield assured her. “You are magnificent.” The tip of his thumb touched the corner of her mouth, trailing along her bottom lip.  
Those mere three words to her had never contained so much sincerity than when he spoke them in his soft voice, comforting her even though they had so much more important things to be concerned with, at the most just staying alive.  
“Don’t sell yourself short either, Will.” She jested, a small smile gracing her lips as her own fingers reached up to caress his bruised cheekbone, now a faded yellow in its healing state. “I haven’t deserved such kindness and dedication from you, but the fact that you’ve stayed true to your promise only made me love you, my Lance Corporal. You’re a truly gracious and beautiful human being.”  
Schofield felt his eyes well with tears at her words. Nobody had ever described him in such a manner before. One of them escaped his eye, betraying his emotion to her, but she only silently wiped it away. She didn’t belittle or mock him as he had experienced before when showing his true feelings to other people.  
His arms gathered her to him, holding Emmy tightly against his uniformed chest. His taller height allowed for his chin to rest atop her head. The words he wanted to say to her threatened to break away from inside him.   
His throat choked up with anxiety at what her reaction would be, but he knew he would most likely never get the chance to ask her again. Slightly pulling away from her, Schofield took her hands within his, the freshened bandage around his palm tightening.  
“Emmy.” He spoke her nickname, a pleasurable thrill shooting up his spine that he could be so casual and comfortable with her. “I have leave to go home to Surrey in two weeks, and… I was hoping that…”  
He trailed off, gulping back the dryness at the back of his mouth, as though he was having trouble speaking. She looked up at him, curiosity and slight concern shining in her tired eyes. No matter how long she had slept that day, she still looked worn and on the brink of collapsing, her injured leg working to support her slowly healing body.  
Clearing his throat, Schofield enfolded an arm around her waist and led her to the chair he had been sitting at by her bedside, easing her to sit down. He knelt down on his knees, releasing a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding.  
She repressed a groan of pain, but the wincing of her face failed to conceal any suffering she was feeling. But Schofield again felt the guilt of not being able to save her from any injury, yet he knew it was impractical to think he could shield her from everything.  
Yet, nothing would keep him from trying to accomplish it. Mere human will was a powerful thing and it helped him to survive the mission for her and Tom Blake.  
“William?” Emmy’s voice broke him away from his train of thought. Her tendril-like fingers brushed locks of dark hair off his perspiring forehead. Her hands then moved to hold his structured cheekbones, hoping to comfort her soldier. “What’s wrong? What do you want to ask me?”  
He delicately removed her hands from his face, grasping her fragile wrists, also patterned with bruises. As gently as possible he held both of her hands in his, placing them into her lap, her legs still clothed in the ratted blue dress, the coarse and wrinkled fabric no doubt scratching her fair skin.  
“I was hoping that…once I’m free on my leave, and you’re healed enough to travel… that you would come with me to Devon.” He carefully scoped the features of her face, gauging for what she was thinking in response to his words.   
“What…what do you mean, Will? Come with you, where you grew up, where your family lives?” She asked. Her eyes widened at the prospect of actually getting away from this dreadful war, but a sick feeling at the pit of her stomach made her shiver. “I…I’d be meeting your family?”  
“Only if you desire to do so. I want to be certain that you’re safe and as far away from here as possible. It may also give us a chance to figure out a way to get you home to your own time.” Schofield was surprised how smoothly he said that sentence, as though nothing could ever shock him anymore. If…you’re nervous about meeting them, I can see about making other arrangements for you to stay somewhere to your liking.”  
“Will, are you sure your family would want to meet someone like me, a random stranger you found in France. You saw the state I was in at that farmhouse. It’s only by some miracle you hadn’t washed your hands of me by now.” A tear trickled down her reddened cheek before being wiped away by Schofield with such tenderness it made her want to break down sobbing.  
“Emmanuelle, you are the woman I love, and you reciprocate that feeling for me. God brought us together to save each other and if other people can’t see that, then they’re at a loss.” Schofield brought both of her tiny hands to her lips, kissing each set of her knuckles. “Would you like to see pictures of my family? Perhaps that will make you more at ease with meeting them.”  
He couldn’t believe what he offering her. Schofield had never shown even his closest comrades what his family looked like, not even Blake. One of his hands continued to hold Emmy’s while the other reached into his uniform tunic, trembling at the motion of pulling out his tobacco tin.  
She nodded in a tentative manner, knowing that Schofield was doing what he could to make this situation easiest as possible to cope with. As he had been doing so from the moment they met…  
He set the metal container carefully in her lap. Emmy was able to decipher immediately that whatever was in this tin was especially precious to him. And she again was assured that what he felt for her was genuine, that he was willing to present her something personal to him and she was able to chip away another chunk of armor protecting him from emotional sensation.  
She looked into his eyes, silently asking his possession to open the tin and look inside. He nodded, lifting up her hand again to his lips to kiss her fingers.   
She couldn’t help but smile at the virtuous gesture, being kissed by this man who was risking so much by merely having her within his vicinity.   
Her shaking hands lifted up the lid from the metal tin and Emmy looked to see the contents inside, feeling Schofield’s anticipating her response.   
Emmy first saw the picture of a woman, about early to mid-thirties, her dark hair tied back in a proper fashion according to the era. Her eyes were soft and reminded her Emmy immediately of how Schofield would look at her.  
“She’s my only and oldest sister, Molly.” Schofield was patient in his explaining to her as she carefully held the picture at the edges, not wanting to smudge it with fingerprints. “If you met her, she would make you feel at home. She loves meeting new people, especially in our small village of Surrey.”  
“She seems beautiful, Will. But, what if she picks up that something isn’t right with me?” Emmy set the picture onto one side of the tin to look at the other underneath it.  
“Emmy, there is nothing wrong with you. And I’ll be sure to write and explain to her about you and what you mean to me.” Schofield inched closer to her on his knees, his un-bandaged hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. “Of course, I know I can’t tell her everything, but I can at least prepare her for meeting you. And I promise I’ll be there every step of the way any time you feel frightened or unsure. Until we figure out how to get you home, I want to help you in adjusting to being here in 1917. Even when we’re away from all this hell here, I want to take care of you, if you will allow me.”  
Emmy remained silent, absorbing his words and processing what to say to him.   
Schofield reached underneath the collar of his uniform and pulled out something in his hand. A golden brown medallion from what Emmy could tell. His hands reached behind his neck and unclasped the thin chain that hung beneath the thick layers of his uniform.  
“And for your journey to the hospital tonight, I want you to have this.” He held the small medallion in his hand, as though he were offering her a piece of himself.  
“What is it?” She asked, although she’d had an idea what.   
“It’s the medallion of Saint Christopher, patron saint of those who are lost. Also, the namesake for my middle name given to me at baptism.” His hand slightly trembled as he held the medallion in his palm. “I want you to have it and keep it safe for me. And it’s meant to be for your protection while we’re apart.”  
Emmy inhaled a shaky breath, her hands reaching out to take hold of the necklace, but she stopped herself. “William, if it’s that invaluable to you, I can’t take it. It seems like a family heirloom, and I don’t qualify for that.”  
“Your safety is what is invaluable to me, Emmanuelle.” His voice was firm with her. “So long as you’re being watched over before we see each other again. This is all I have for an offering to show how much I’ve fallen in love with you. You need not wear it, but please keep it in your possession until I return for you.”  
Schofield was nearly begging her, wanting to ensure her protection while they had to be separated. His blue eyes threatened to spill with unshed tears and Emmy hated the sight of him so distraught. Who was she to hold his happiness in her hands?  
Taking a deep breath to steady her hands, she held the medallion out to him. “I would be honored to wear it, my Lance Corporal. Will you put it on me?”  
He looked into her eyes at her words, a rare smile growing on his handsome face. Emmy so wished he was able to smile more often. “Thank you, Emmanuelle.”  
His whisper was faint, but full of unspoken adoration meant for her only. He stood and went behind her as she gathered up her long hair with her hands. Schofield gingerly wove the chain around her neck, careful not to clasp it too tight and irritate the bruises coloring the flesh on her throat. The clasp fit together and the medallion rested against her bosom.  
“It’s beautiful, William. I feel truly blessed that you think me worthy of wearing something that means so much to you.” Emmy confessed before she could prevent the words from escaping her lips.  
Schofield was back on knees again in front of her, looking as though a huge amount of pressure was lifted off his already weary shoulders. His uninjured hand reached up toward the medallion before making its way to her face, his fingertips brushing along her jaw-line and down her chin.   
“You are deserving of all the riches and treasures life can offer you, my Emmy. Much more than what I’m capable of giving you. In your era or mine, you are worthy of everything you desire.” His words were reverent with unbreakable belief if what he was saying to her.   
The tears of immense gratitude spilled from Emmy’s eyes before she could stop them. She saw the worried look on Schofield’s face at the sight of her crying, but a laugh of relief emitted from her choked up throat.  
“Okay.” Her voice was a hoarse croak with the one word as she nodded.   
“What, love?” Schofield’s brow furrowed with confusion at her use of such a broad term.  
“Yes, William. Yes, I’ll go with you to Surrey.” Elation electrocuted her body with euphoria at the notion of him taking her away from here, even though it’d still be unfamiliar to her, this place of Surrey.   
Her radiant smile brought the most joy to Schofield, such a feeling he hadn’t experienced in so long. Before he could process the feeling of his own hopeful smile to his face, Emmy had flung herself into his arms, nearly knocking him backwards to the grass as he caught her.  
The tobacco tin had fallen from her lap and onto the grass, photographs and other trinkets spilling out.  
Neither of them at the moment, however…  
His lips were tangled with hers, kissing her with the most conviction of his being true to Emmanuelle. He held her carefully in his arms as he kept them both upright, mindful of her heavily bruised abdomen. His fingers wove through her tangled hair, careful of catching any knotted ends so as not to pull at her scalp. A growl emerged from Schofield, primal and remindful of his more natural needs as a man, holding the most beautiful girl ever to cross his path within his embrace.  
Emmy’s arms were around his neck as they pulled away from the kiss, taking a breath to catch themselves. Their foreheads touched as they shared a mutual smile with one another, one of agreement and assurance that everything would work out.  
She leaned her head on his shoulder, inhaling his comforting scent of tobacco and the remnants of gunpowder caked into his uniform. Her eyes closed in sharing this moment of intimacy and crossing this milestone.   
Schofield placed the gentlest of kisses to her neck, soothing one of the fading bruises reminding him that he hadn’t always been able to keep her from being harmed in this war.  
In modern times, she could interpret it as the equivalent of not only meeting his family, but moving into his life in a more permanent sense, moving in with him…  
Then, she opened her eyes, still encaged in her soldier’s embrace and saw it lying on the grass amongst the photos.  
An atom bomb, or in Schofield’s case, a grenade…  
A picture in pure Technicolor of her, in modern day clothing. Her picture from when she had been Employee of the Month at the library… Sitting amongst those of Schofield’s family.  
Was she hallucinating? Was she being tormented by God Himself with these images of her in pictures, past and present? Why was she being pulled between two worlds?  
A movement caught the corner of her eye and she looked up to see someone standing there. And she gasped in alarm and also nearly manic happiness.  
A vision of Corp. Thomas Blake stood within her line of sight, straight out of her dreams, ethereal and incandescent with his youthful aura. And he had died because of her…  
While still being held by Schofield, Emmy could think of no words to say at the sight invading her waking hour. Tom stayed silent, gazing into her eyes with mourning affection and then glancing at the photo of her.  
She wanted to run and embrace him, but she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to stand. She knew this vision of him was not a threat to her, but a sign of things to come. He was guiding her down her own path to form her history.  
And the pictures were markers of what was to come…  
Before Emmy could speak anything coherent to say, to get him to stay a second more, she blinked away the tears and he vanished as though he were never there.  
His voice ghosted in her ear, another proverb of assurance.   
“Even if a century of years keep you apart, no amount of time will vanquish the love Scho holds for you, sweetest Emmy.”


	14. Colorblind

CHAPTER SONG: "Colorblind" by Counting Crows

"Emmy, they'll be departing with the ambulance soon to take you to the hospital. When the sun sets." Schofield re-entered the tent, clasping the flap closed to keep the chilled breeze from intruding.

A shiver of melancholic shock racked his spine as those words exited his mouth, reminding himself of the course of action taken with Thomas Blake, arguing with him in the safety of the trenches…

"Blake, we've got time to wait until the sun sets… we should wait until its dark."

"Scho, we've got no idea what we're walking into!"

He pushed the painful remembrance into the further recesses of his mind, keeping them subdued and able to focus on the present matter at hand: making sure Emmanuelle was taken away from this camp and her wellbeing was guaranteed in their separation.

Upon turning around, he was greeted with the sight of his American beloved sitting upright on her bed, holding the photographs from his tobacco tin, after he had left it in his chair by her bedside. Her brunette hair gathered up in an amateur bun tied with one of the strings from her loose white cotton shirt, a few stray strands framing her face, which had thankfully regained more color with her health improving.

His St. Anthony medallion hanged around her healing neck, dangled at the front of her shirt. A sweeping sensation of gratitude flowed through him at the notion that she was wearing such a precious possession of his without it being an obvious token of romantic affection.

Should anyone see her wearing it and ask her of its origins, they could make the assumption it was hers…

He noticed how she failed to look up at his entry into the tent, concern growing at the forefront of his turbulent emotions. Schofield slowly approached her bed, not wanting to startle her as she seemed concentrated on the photographs in her hands.

"Emmanuelle, what is it?" The lance corporal gently placed his un-bandaged hand upon her shoulder, alerting her to his presence.

Her vivid green eyes locked with his and he was aghast with the swirling whirlpool of emotions in their depths and the redness surrounding her irises as though she'd been silently crying to herself…

"William…" Her voice croaked with the dryness of her throat and it pained Schofield to hear such a sound coming from her throat, barely cured of its bruises. Had she not cried enough tears for one person in their whole lifetime?

"What's wrong, my love? Tell me." He sat by her side on the bed, his hands grasping onto her small wrists. Despite his question, he had an idea why she was upset.

He glanced down at her lap and saw the photograph of her, in modern day clothing and in bright Technicolor. She turned it over and showed him the date written in her own handwriting on the back.

November 11th, 1918.

"Will, I need you to tell me the truth." Emmy held her body up straight as she looked right into the eyes of her soldier. Her small fingers entwined with his much larger ones with one hand as she held the photograph of herself in the other for him to see. "If your love for me is true, then what I ask you about this picture will be answered to the best of your knowledge."

"Yes, absolutely." Schofield's voice carried an unbeatable conviction, and the time he took to respond held no hesitation. Yet, his heart dropped at the notion of her doubting what he felt for her after everything endured between them, together and apart…

He could hear the urgency and confusion in her tone, feel the trembling of anxiety in her hands and he wanted to make those feelings cease within her… He wanted to absorb the negativity violating her chance at hopefulness of escaping this war and keep them at bay at his own emotional expense.

He knew every aspect of her in his marrow and she knew just as much of him in the same capacity…

"How long have you had this picture?" She held it toward him and he held it in his hands. But his eyes only focused on her, keeping him determined to soothe the woman interrogating him even though his answers wouldn't warrant such a desired result.

"I found it in my tin only earlier today while you were resting. I was checking to see my belongings weren't soiled by the river and it was there amongst the photographs." He paused, anticipating her reaction to his answer.

Her lips were set into a frown as she stared into eyes for any glint of deception. Even though it killed her on the inside to even think he would hurt her in such a manner.

A few long, agonizing seconds went by as she was assured that he wasn't lying to her nor had he ever been doing so.

Not him, not her hero who had risked life and limb to keep her from being another innocent casualty in this godforsaken war.

Schofield was telling the truth and his love for her was nothing short of genuine and unbreakable.

"You should never doubt what I feel for you." He had told her hours before with every fiber of his being; she had been able to feel it radiating from him, enveloping around her with only his words just as meaningful as when she had been held in his arms afterward, sitting in the shade of the lone tree in the grassy field and slumbering while the morning sun rose in the bright blue sky.

"Then…how did…?" She looked away from Schofield and back at the photograph as she took it back from him. "How did you get it? How did it get here in this time period? I don't understand what the hell is happening."

A tear streamed down from each of her eyes. Her hands grasped tightly onto the picture, clenching her fists and she felt the urge to rip it to shreds in anger.

Schofield moved his hands from Emmy's wrists to her hands, the edges of the pictures slightly cutting into his skin, insuring an addition of markings upon his palm as he tried to comfort her.

"Emmanuelle, I swear I have no idea how this picture of yours came into my possession." He took her face in between his hands, gently wiping away her tears with his thumbs. Her skin was heated with the pressure of her anger boiling within her and expelling through her tears. "But, please know that I won't leave you alone in this. We'll figure out what's happening together. And I won't retract the vow I made to protect you."

Emmy's hands loosened around the picture, leaving it wrinkled, but the image of her still intact. Inhaling a sharp breath to calm down, leaning forward to press her forehead to Schofield's. Exhaling through her nose, she closed her eyes, basking in the soothing presence of the man she loved. Their breathing synced with each other for several seconds, allowing their respective silence to speak for them.

Schofield's arms wrapped around her as he pulled her close, adjusting her to sit upon his lap; they were in the privacy of her tent and he was willing to let propriety be damned for these last few moments with her before their separation.

Emmy's hand reached up to his face, her fingers stroking his prominent cheekbone. She leaned up and pressed a grateful kiss to his lips, which he returned with all the tenderness that could exist within a human being.

She pulled away from him carefully, wanting more, but something in the form if an idea came to her slowly organizing mind. She pressed another gentle kiss to the skin of his neck that wasn't covered with his uniform collar, just below his jaw-line.

Her own lips curled into a satisfied at the sound he made, a growling sigh as she ceased kissing him. Though he was an honorable soldier and her courageous champion, he was still a man with basic needs. And she loved him all the more knowing he had forsaken any opportunity given to take advantage of being isolated with her for the majority of their journey.

"I love you, William Schofield. And that means I have to protect you too." She tore her eyes away from her Lance Corporal's face and to the date scribbled on the back of the picture, the ink blotched with her fingerprints from handling in such a careless manner.

"What do you mean, my love?" Schofield asked, his voice soft with concern with what may be going through her mind.

Bracing herself to stand up, she placed her booted feet on the grass, placing her hands on one of his knees to push herself into an upright position. Balancing on both legs despite the injury to one of them…

Schofield sat on the bed, his prepared hands cautiously reaching forward to catch her should she stumble.

"Give me your lighter. I need to burn this picture before anyone else sees it." She held out her hand, hoping against all odds he would listen. "This date that's on the back of it, you know I can't tell you what it means. For all I know, it could be meant to distract you and keep you from surviving this war, imagining if I would come back to you…if I ever find my way back home."

"When you find your way back, Emmanuelle." He stood up to his full height, towering over her slight frame, but knowing there was little hope in disobeying her. "If we don't know how this picture of you came to be with my personal artifacts, we can still take it as a sign of faith that you'll soon be home and you can return to your mother like you wanted."

He instantly wanted to bite back his words at mentioning her mother, knowing it was a sensitive subject for her. She hung her head and dropped her outstretched hand; before it could hang limp at her side, Schofield took ahold of her delicate hand, his lips softly kissing her knuckles before moving to do the same to her fingers.

"I don't want to upset you, my love." He attempted to assure her that this picture was meant to be more of an olive branch of things to come rather than a foreboding omen. "But this picture of you will be your way of protecting me without you being placed in actual danger."

He gently pulled her close so that she was leaning against his chest, her jade eyes looking up at him with deliberation of his words.

"What do you mean, Will?" She asked, the picture still clutched in her free hand. Her other hand was held still by one of Schofield's, wrapped in white scraps of bandage and healing, both his and hers joined together upon his breastbone, above his heartbeat. She worked in memorizing the feel of that rough brown fabric and how she had comfortably slept against it while in his arms.

"I mean that if I hang onto this photograph of you, I promise to keep it safe where it will be cherished with the other photographs of those I love. If…if I should begin to lose myself and dare forget the reason for even enlisting… all I'll have to do is look upon this image of you, smiling and innocent. I'll be reminded that there's still beauty and kindness in this world, something worth fighting for."

Emmy pondered his words to her, filled with staggering reality and context of his perception of being a soldier. And if she could possibly cope with the knowledge that from this point forward, she would be one of his motivations for staying alive for the next nineteen months until this dreaded war was over…

If she could keep him alive… what she would sacrifice for this man…

She leaned her cheek against his chest, their hands still locked. His heart continued to vibrate underneath the thick layers of his uniform. Her eyes closed and she smiled, finally coming to a decision for him.

"William, if it really means that much to you, having a picture of me, then you can hold onto it. Although, it likely doesn't hold as much value as your St. Anthony medallion." She raised her head up, looking into his eyes of misty blue. "Part of me thinks that this is just a crazy dream I'm having…and I'm gonna wake up any minute in my hotel room in London. And I'll be sad that you were just in my imagination, my honorable knight in a soldier's uniform."

Her free hand reached to caress his paled cheek again, Schofield closing his eyes in quiet bliss. This woman was going to send him into a downward spiral he knew, but he failed to be concerned. How he despised the concept of being apart from her, but he knew that God had placed her in his path for a reason… and he had to do the right thing by allowing her safety to be prioritized above his own happiness.

Her words caught him off guard within his thoughts. The image of Emmanuelle in her hotel room in a bustling city of London… She had been in England before somehow coming to this year in Flanders. Perhaps if he asked her now while they were alone, he could decipher if she recalled anything significant prior to being transported to that farmhouse.

"Emmy, before we're parted, I need to ask you." He took her hands in his before leading her to the bed so she could sit and rest her leg. "Before you awakened in the farmhouse, do you remember anything that may have importance to your arriving here?"

He tried to word the question carefully as he knelt before her on the grass. Schofield was hesitant to release her hands, knowing their time was running out to be together…

He awaited her response, gently stroking both sets of her tiny knuckles with his thumbs.

"I, um…" She cleared her throat, as though it were drying up. Schofield reached over to the barrel being used as an improvised table and grabbed the tin of water before placing it in her lap. Her trembling fingers unscrewed the lid and she drank a few gulps before regaining strength in her voice. Schofield's caring gaze never looked away from her face until she placed the water back on the barrel…

He waited with everlasting patience for her to speak again, never wavering to see what he could do to ease this situation for her…

"Before I arrived at the hotel that night…I went to a museum all about this war." She paused again, aiming to carefully work around any details. Any dates or information from the future, if he knew anything, even the meaning of the date written on the back of her picture, it could compromise his survival.

She had read enough books and watched enough television to know the potential chaos of time-travel and interacting with people from the past.

Hell, just by giving her heart to him, she was compromising his very life and she knew she had to be ashamed of it…

"Yes…" Schofield spoke, encouraging her to continue. His un-bandaged hand moved up toward her face, his fingers brushing away strands of her hair straying from behind her ears. To glimpse her for these last few moments before she was taken away from him…

He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked with her hair tied up, though exquisite as she was with it flowing down her back and before she had even properly bathed.

"I…I was in the gift shop and I was looking through a book with pictures of various soldiers from the battalion in this camp." She inhaled a deep breath and exhaled, gathering the drive to keep talking. "In one of the books, I saw a picture of you and Joseph Blake. You were telling him what happened to Tom and giving him his brother's belongings."

Tears welled up in her eyes at the memory just hours ago of Schofield's hand shaking that of Lt. Blake's, a noble gesture of gentlemanly thankfulness. She managed to blink them away and she fought the impulse to leap into her Lance Corporal's arms and bury her face into his neck like a frightened child would seek solace from a parent.

But she had to keep a brave face, but she didn't know how much more strength she had within her for the day remaining.

She could feel the distress radiating off of Schofield at the sight of her desiring to cry, but she held it all back. Emmanuelle kept recounting her tale of woe…

"I went to buy the book and leave the store before it closed…and I saw a picture of someone in the glass cabinet at the checkout desk." She paused again, trying to read her soldier's face for any indication that he was put off by her recollection. But he stayed with her, listening to every word she said.

"Who was it you saw, sweetheart?" He used that term again with her, implying without saying aloud that his concern was increasing, like a code word used only between the two of them.

"It was a picture of a woman…in a wedding dress from this decade." She inhaled another breath as she dropped the figurative grenade in his lap, anticipating his rage at her that she was insane. How she prayed to God for him not to push her away now.

"Who was the woman?" Schofield asked her, his voice low almost in a deathly silent whisper. His large hands held her upper arms as gently as possible, lightly squeezing them in reassurance.

The bile rose in her throat, but she pushed it back down.

And there arrived the evening hate…

"The woman was me. It was the last thing I saw before I passed out in the hotel room and woke up at the farmhouse. I saw myself in the mirror in that room in the exact same dress and wedding veil."

Schofield's eyes went wide with bewilderment as he absorbed her words, his mouth agape as though she had just explained everything to him in German.

"The picture was dated Christmas of 1918. After the date of the picture of me that you have now. The woman in the picture didn't have a name either, but she looked exactly like me. I…I don't know why, William. I…I just don't know."

She broke then, leaning forward and folding her arms around Schofield's neck. Her face buried into his shoulder as her tears soaked his uniform, her forehead scraped against the gold metal word of Surrey sewn into the coarse material he was wearing.

Schofield held her tightly to him, still shocked by her explanation of everything, but stood solemnly by his vow to her.

"Shhh, my love. Don't be scared. We'll figure it out, I promise." His whispers in her ear flowed into her frazzled brain. "You won't be harmed, let alone be forced into marry someone you don't want to. I won't let anything like that happen to you."

Colonel MacKenzie's words from earlier came back to him as he held her close. About how if she didn't have the protection of the British Army, she would be left vulnerable to the Germans to do whatever they liked with her…

The gruesome image of her being strangled by the bastard Boche' pilot burned in his memory…

His ears perked up at the sound of male voices outside the tent, one of them thankfully mixed with that Lt. Blake's.

Schofield pulled away slightly as Emmy raised her head up from his shoulder. He kissed her forehead where it was reddened from the gold letters on his uniform sleeve.

The entry flap of the tent opened to reveal Joseph Blake, his striking face weary still from the earlier day's events, but a determination evident to his vibrant azure eyes.

Emmy silently wondered if all Englishmen had such blue eyes… But knew none had the wondrous shine of her Corp. Schofield.

"Ms. Hunterson, it's time to depart to the hospital." Lt. Blake locked eyes instantly with her as she hesitantly stepped out of Schofield's arms. A chill enveloped her despite the thick cotton shirt covering her torso and arms with the warming thread.

She froze in her spot on the grass, glancing back at Schofield as though asking if he thought she would be safe. The lance corporal went to gather her bag of supplies and carry them to the vehicle for her. He gave a nod of quiet approval to Lt. Blake and took a step forward while remaining behind her.

Emmy stood between the two men and she looked back at Lt. Blake as he waited for her to accompany him outside.

"Ms. Hunterson, we need to make haste." The lieutenant stepped forward to her and held out his hand for her to take. "The sooner we get started, the sooner we can get you to safety and you'll heal in a proper facility."

"Yes, Joseph." She still felt strange calling by his first name, but after the day endured, she could've cared less about formality. "I just…AHHH!"

She yelled in pain as her leg again enflamed with her injury and standing on it for so long. Lt. Blake, being closer to her, went to steady her as Schofield was also alerted to her plight.

"It's alright." Lt. Blake's arm went around her slight waist as he locked eyes with Schofield, seeing how he would react to another man placing his hands on this woman, if only to assist her. "It may not be ideal for you to walk, Miss Hunterson. One of us may have to carry you outside to the ambulance."

"That's fine." She groaned out, her arm going around Lt. Blake's shoulders. So long as the agony in her leg stopped… "I trust you, Joseph. If Will doesn't mind either."

"No, Emmy. He'll take you outside and I'll get your pack." Schofield assured her of no animosity between him and the lieutenant as Blake gingerly lifted up the young woman in his arms and made his way out of the tent.

Lt. Blake had volunteered to escort her to safety and Schofield trusted him with everything he had to do so.

Before she was carried out of the tent, Emmy looked at him over Lt. Blake's shoulder. Her moistened lips mouthed to him and only for him, those divine words.

"I love you, Will."

"I love you, Emmy." He murmured softly, and she knew he meant it. Time could dare to challenge them now more than ever as her fate was now placed in the hands of his late comrade's brother.

His hands shakily placed her photograph back inside his tobacco tin and he closed the lid before sliding the container into his uniform tunic front pocket. If he wasn't able to physically protect her until he was on leave, he would at least safekeep the representation of her back in 2020. Her happiness was worth preserving, whether it was with him in this century or her own era one hundred in this mysterious future, it mattered not.

It would be her choice, so long as she found fulfillment and prosperity in her life.


End file.
